


the muddied indecisiveness of desire and self-hatred

by dandelionoverlord



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Ableism, Acephobia, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Asexual Character, Autistic Newt Scamander, Child Abuse, Credence Barebone Deserves Better, F/M, Homophobia, M/M, Original Character(s), Past Child Abuse, Rape/Non-con Elements, Self-Hatred, Touch-Starved, Unhealthy Relationships, because tbh credence needs a happy ending and the movie Did Not Deliver, but only in reference to a past pseudo-relationship, chapters will get longer but introducing shit is difficult as hell, no oc/canon characters though don't worry, not the current one though
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-03
Updated: 2017-08-24
Packaged: 2018-09-06 05:45:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 19
Words: 45,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8737108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dandelionoverlord/pseuds/dandelionoverlord
Summary: There was little to Credence besides the voices, the never-ending self-doubt and self-deprecation, the phantom pain and phantom touches that blended together into a symphony of bleeding palms and feather-forceful hands and mocking words that echoed through his mind as shadows ripped him apart.





	1. a change in events (prologue)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> apparently this chapter didn't post!!!!! holy fuck!!!! i'm dying scoob!!!!!!!!  
> anyway this was literally supposed to be posted last sunday but apparently my computer Fucking Hates Me!!!!!!!! shit. sorry y'all

There was nothing but darkness, around him and in him. Breaths brought only more of it, a thick, choking blackness that filled his lungs and veins with poisoned light. His skin ripped and healed and ripped again, forever tearing and mending and tearing again, letting the shadows spill out of him in the endless chaos of pain and fear and rage.

He didn’t know what he was doing, not really. All he understood was the fury rending him apart. Graves’s face swam between the disconnected fragments of his mind, eyes dark and face unsmiling, words of betrayal spilling from curled lips. His mother, a belt looped in her hands, his own stinging over and over again, his mother, face burnt and neck twisted, his mother, dead, dead, dead, _deaddeaddeaddeaddead_ -

“Credence."

It was a voice. The monster that was once a boy, or the boy that was always a monster, recognized it, it thought, he thought. Something about helping. Something incomprehensible.

“It’s Credence, isn’t it?"

The voice was quiet, soothing. Credence (that’s right, that was the boy’s name) recalled hearing it once before, from a man to a stray cat. It had been the briefest of moments, but Credence had thought about that gentleness for a long time.

Graves had sounded like that, once, but underneath that voice had always been something that wanted, something that was hungry to hurt-

The thing inside Credence got angrier.

“I’m here to help you, Credence. I’m not here to hurt you.”

The voice became a person, and the person stayed where he was, next to a pillar. It was a man, a man that had once come to one of Mary Lou’s rallies, only a few days prior. He was dressed in blue, a splash of color amidst the stale muddiness of faded brick walls and the all-encompassing darkness of Credence’s own swarm of shadows.

“I’ve met someone like you, Credence. A girl, a young girl who’d been imprisoned, she had been locked away and she’d been punished for her magic.”

The buzzing monster quieted, slightly, in the face of an emotion that overcame the others; surprise. It melted away, ever so little, edges creeping away from Credence’s eyes. The man was smiling, softly, his stance one of hesitation and worry. He crouched down. He looked so out of place, so colorful and so _gentle_. “Credence, can I come over to you? Can I come over?”

No one had ever really asked that before. Graves would heal without question, take care of him _he was always so kind and you didn’t even thank him he had a right to abandon you you were useless useless useless_ without a thought _without question he would always help you and what did you give him in return_ , and in his home, the thought of privacy, bodily autonomy, was a ridiculous one. Mary Lou would never ask; it was within her right to do as she wished _hurt as she wished punish as she wished mock condemn hurt bad bad bad bad bad_ -

There were movements in the distance, footsteps that could be heard echoing through the empty train tunnels.

The man came closer, tentatively. “Credence, I know you’re scared, I know this is an awful, confusing situation, and I know that, that even asking this of you is ridiculous, especially given the circumstances-“ he talked quickly, eyes darting around, “-but I need you to trust me.”

Credence fought to hold back the demon inside of him. That’s what it was, after all, one of the Devil’s minions sent to punish Credence for being wrong, for being a freak, and it wanted to devour the man whole, wanted to swallow the splash of color and the warmth, wanted to scream about trickery and dishonesty.

“Credence, please, I know you don’t understand what’s going on, but there are people who are coming, and I don’t want them to hurt you. Listen, the woman, the woman who helped you before, a long time ago, she’ll be here in a minute. I just need you to listen to me, and I promise, you’ll be safe.”

His voice was picking up speed, desperation tinging his words as the sounds grew louder. The man brought forth a suitcase and opened it, gesturing frantically at Credence. “Please, Credence, get inside, I know, I know, just-“

A woman appeared from around the corner, running towards them. The woman ( _the witch_ ) who had saved him from Mary Lou once before, shown him the only kindness ( _undeserved undeserved he had not been worthy he had not been worth it worth worth worth_ ). She was there in a second, face flushed and stray hairs plastered to her forehead. The man turned hopeful eyes to her, and she met them, before her gaze fell to the suitcase, and darted to Credence, understanding flooding her expression.

“Credence, I need you to listen to Newt, okay?” she pleaded. “I…I know this doesn’t…it’s…” she paused, biting her lip. “Newt, I can’t make them listen, they’re going to hurt him, I know it. Credence, please. We’ll explain everything as soon as we can, just…please get into the suitcase, okay?”

The monster was quiet, for once. It shifted restlessly, but it was calmer; she had helped them. She had shown them kindness, once.

The monster was quiet, and both it and the boy listened.


	2. the mouse ran up the clock

Tick. Tock.

_you stupid freak what are you doing let the demon out let it destroy them and you and let yourself be sent to hell you deserve it you deserve it YOU DESERVE IT_

Credence wasn’t sure how long it had been since he entered the suitcase, falling down a rickety ladder and landing in a sprawled heap of ripped clothes and thrashing darkness at the bottom. He just knew he had been sitting there for a while, minutes or hours, he wasn’t sure, huddled in a corner with his knees drawn up to his chest, fingers digging into the skin of his forearms.

There was a workshop in a suitcase, all musty cleanliness and organized mess. It felt used and well-worn, like a favorite jacket or an old pair of shoes. Like a home, although Credence was unfamiliar with that concept.

Tick. Tock.

Black blood (or was it shadows, filling his veins and leaking out from every patch of ripped flesh) leaked down his arms as his fingernails left crescent moon gouges on the pale swathes of his wrists, but he refused to budge, the dull ache of fresh wounds fading beneath the roar in his head. He felt the corners of his eyes stinging, and swallowed back tears, concentrating on the burning weight of shame sitting deep in his gut.

_Tears are for the innocent, Credence. You may never cry, for you are guilty and deserve every punishment that is handed to you. It is in this way that you may achieve absolution for your sins._

He wasn’t sure who the voices in his head belonged to. They carried the snappish bite of his mother ( _not his mother no just a woman who took you in who raised you who you owe everything to and you KILLED HER YOU MURDERER_ ), the silky-smooth rasp of Graves, the mocking condescension and hatred of every scornful passerby on the street. They mingled together, creating a cacophony of fury that filled Credence up, drowned out any sense of cohesion and understanding, tore and screamed and-

The ladder clattered as though to remind him that there was something tangible around him, that the endless drone in his mind was not completely a reality. Two brown boots appeared, followed by a blue coat that got caught on the opening. The man wearing them muttered a curse and tugged it free, and then continued downwards, hopping off the last rung and brushing off his front.

His eyes settled on Credence, and he paused, his hands stilling on his jacket.

“I’m really terribly sorry that took as long as it had. We had to figure out what to do about this situation. A whole mess of illusions and deception…didn’t think it was going to work, but after the whole debacle with Mr. Graves, it all just sort of…got accepted.”

Credence bit his tongue to impede the question that leapt to his lips ( _where is Mr. Graves what happened with him is he okay is he hurt did I hurt him I wanted to hurt him he deserved it I’m sorry I deserved to be treated that way he did nothing did he do nothing what-_ ).

Quiet.

“I’m Newt Scamander, by the way, Credence,” the man continued. “I know this must be incredibly confusing for you. I’m sure you have many questions.”

Credence blinked at him. Newt did not make eye contact, instead removing his coat and tossing it over one of the rungs on the ladder. “I’m going to make some tea, I think. Tea is always very soothing. Would you like any, Credence?”

“No, thank you, sir,” Credence replied, the practiced sentence falling from his lips, tasting of empty familiarity.

He half-expected Newt to make him one anyway, but the other man nodded absently. “Alright, then. I’m going to make a pot, though. Let me know if you would like anything. And if you have any questions, please, don’t be afraid to ask.”

 _Don’t be afraid_.

Newt busied himself with filling up a banged-up kettle with water and setting it on a makeshift stove. He withdrew a long, thin piece of wood ( _a wand of course what do you think it is Credence are you an idiot what’s wrong with you_ ) from his pocket, murmuring what sounded like gibberish as he motioned it at the grate.

A small flame burst up underneath the pot, and Credence swallowed. “What…” he started, and hesitated. “This place…this is y-your…suitcase? How?”

“Oh, yes, this place must be pretty confusing for you,” Newt frowned thoughtfully, tapping his wand against the kettle. “Mainly some specialized extension charms, samples from habitats so I can recreate them, that sort of thing. This workshop was the first thing I built, you know.”

Credence had no idea what the other man was saying, but he didn’t mention it.

 _Of course it’s magic what did you expect did you expect to understand anything that he said why did you even ask there was no point no point you imbecile mother was right when she said you could never learn anything_ -

“Do you mind if I come over, Credence?”

Newt’s voice was soft. Credence twitched, eyes flickering to Newt and back to the floor. He shook his head.

With slow, unhurried movements, Newt made his way over to Credence. At about two feet away, he sat down, folding his legs underneath him as he maneuvered his lanky body into a comfortable position. “Do you have anything else you want to know?”

Credence shook his head again, keeping his gaze locked on the thin blackish-red trails dappling his wrists. Newt was silent, for a minute, and then began again. “Do you want to know what happened after you came here? With all the witches and wizards who were…there?”

“If you want to tell me, sir.”

“What do you want?” Newt pressed, shifting again.

Credence shook his head a third time. “Nothing, sir.”

There was a moment of uncomfortable quiet, and then Newt gave in. “Alright, then. After you came here, Tina and I had to…do quite a bit of rather impressive magic to fix the situation. Actually, it was mostly Tina who came through there. Primarily a lot of illusion work. In all the chaos, it was enough to fool Graves and the MACUSA when they arrived. They dissipated the illusion without realizing it was an illusion. I don’t think any of them realized that they weren’t seeing the-“

“Dissipated?” Credence interrupted. A second later, he froze, fingernails pressing deeper into his forearms and knuckles whitening _what have you done what have you done what have you DONE_. “I’m so sorry, sir, I didn’t mean to-“

“No, it’s not a problem, really,” Newt cut through in return. “Don’t worry about it. We conjured up an Obscurus, and they at…tacked it…”

He trailed off, tone suddenly worried.

Credence contemplated the other’s words. “They…killed me, sir?”

It was comforting, that they had killed him. At least he knew that they wouldn’t have let him destroy more of the city, hurt more people. They would’ve banished him and the thing inside him back to the Devil’s kingdom and he would’ve never been allowed to do what he did again.

The teapot whistled frantically, and Newt stood up, fingers fidgeting nervously with his sleeves as he hurried over to the pot and poured some of the boiling water into a cup.

Tick. Tock.

 _what about Mr. Graves what did you do to him is he alive is he there you want to destroy him you want to hurt him you want him to want you back you filthy_ -

“Are you sure you don’t want a cup, Credence?”

“Would you like to give me a cup, sir?”

Newt returned to his spot on the floor, holding two mugs of tea, and gently placed one on the ground in front of Credence. “I’ll be heading back to Europe tomorrow, Credence. Do you have somewhere to go? Is there a place you want me to return you to?”

The name of the NSPS headquarters was on the tip of his tongue, and he bit it back, tasting blood as his teeth punctured soft skin and tissue. He couldn’t return there. He had destroyed it, destroyed the people, destroyed his mother _he had killed her he had slaughtered her when she had done everything she could for him so he wouldn’t be condemned to hell and yet here he was and he was going to burn for all eternity_. He couldn’t return there.

He shook his head, slowly.

“Ah. Alright then. That’s not an issue. Would you like to stay with the Goldsteins? I’m sure Tina would be happy to take you in.”

“There’s no need for that, sir. I can find a place myself.”

Newt, who had been raising a cup to his lips, set it down immediately. “I’m not going to turn you out on the streets, Credence. That’s out of the question. The Goldsteins would be happy to help you.”

He wasn’t going to be a burden for Tina. He would hurt her. Credence knew that. Knew that he could lose control at any second and tear her into pieces and he wasn’t going to hurt her like that, wasn’t going to kill her, not after she had helped him when he hadn’t deserved it back then, before Mr. Graves and the thing inside of him took him over completely.

“Do you not want to stay with the Goldsteins?”

Credence moved, slightly. His cramped muscles shrieked in protest. _I will hurt them I will kill them I will ruin every good thing-_ “No sir.” _I don’t want that, not when I’m this thing, when I’m possessed and hell-bound, when I’m nothing but a vesicle for the Devil’s desires._

Newt took a sip from his tea and pondered the drink, swirling the tea leaves into a vortex in the center of the cup. “If you’d like, you could stay here. In my suitcase. For as long as you want.”

The sentence was a ridiculous one, but Credence couldn’t bring himself to acknowledge the humor of it.

The suitcase was closed. It could serve as a prison, a place for Credence to remain until both he and the demon rotted away into nothing but wisps of darkness.

“If you would like me to, I’ll stay here, sir.”

It was his only option that had little chance of ending in more pain for others because of him.

“Alright, then.”

Credence almost missed the glance that Newt shot in the direction of an old wooden door leading off from the workshop, but managed to catch the tail end of it. He didn’t question it, though. A witch had to keep many secrets, undoubtedly. And Newt was a witch.

He heard Graves crooning something in his left ear, his mother shrieking in his right. _Witches are good witches are evil they are not inherently bad they're sinners who have strayed from god you're not a bad person you're a bad person just like your witch of a mother-_

“Get some sleep,” Newt was on his feet, holding both cups of tea. “You look like you need some rest. I’ll make sure no one disturbs you, okay? We’ll leave tomorrow. I know this is very rushed, and I’m sorry about that, but you should still rest.” He set the cups down and crossed over to another door, gently pushing it open. “My bedroom’s in here. Take the bed. I don’t mind.”

“I couldn’t, sir, I-“

Newt smiled and tapped the door. “Seriously, I don’t mind. My bed’s been coopted by countless other creatures before you, and I didn’t even give half of those ones permission. Take it.”

Credence obeyed the request, and forced himself to his feet, gritting his teeth against the pain of his protesting joints. He edged past Newt and approached the bed, sitting nervously on the edge of it. He hadn't missed Newt's use of the word 'creature'. Was that what he was? An animal, by a witch's standards? A monstrous beast, a wolf in the sheep's clothing of a boy.

“I’ll be back soon. Just poke your head out the case if you need anything, alright?”

Newt closed the door, and the room was plunged into darkness.

Tick. Tock.

 _you’re an abomination_.

He slid off the bed onto the floor, fingers knotting in the frayed threads of the rough carpet.

Tick. Tock.

_eternal torment is what lies at the end of the road for you, Credence. you can never erase what you have done. who knows how many you’ve killed? you killed the politician. you killed your mother. you killed without any real reason, just because you were a selfish little freak who was unable to accept that which you deserved._

Tick. Tock.

_i hope mr. scamander kills you i hope he sees you for who you really are and destroys you i hope that no one mourns you when he finally gets sick of you._

Tick. Tock.

“I hope he kills me,” Credence whispered to the darkness.

He didn’t sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow look at that!! another single-sentence dramatic ending. i work in only one medium. get used to it, ya'll.  
> also this chapter draws on for a Very Long Time but i'm intending for later chapters to be more fast-paced and cover more than one scene/conversation so hopefully if you didn't like the style of this chapter, the next ones may interest you more!  
> thanks for reading!


	3. interludium i

**_pars unum - memoriam temporum praeteritorum_ **

 

_the boy stood in the streets, hands shaking around a sheaf of fliers, bloodied palms staining the aged edges a violent, striking red. people passed by, avoiding eye contact, shoulders knocking him to and fro, the occasional pitying glance or worried look drowning in skeptical glares and mocking mutters._

_his back stung, worse than his hands. he didn’t truly know what he had done to deserve the punishment that time, but his mother knew best; if she said he had sinned, he had sinned, he reasoned. she was a servant of the lord, and as the church droned day after day, liars were sinners and his mother was neither one._

_someone bumped into him, harder than the others, and he stumbled, falling into the gutter, wincing as his hands slapped against the ground, the lashes taking in the gravel and filthied rainwater._

_he bit his lip and gathered the papers, hunching his shoulders as he swayed back to his feet, mumbling apologies to no one in particular._

_a man was watching him. the boy looked up, and the man stared at him a second longer, before vanishing._

_the boy returned home, and undid his belt with no hesitation when his mother stared disapprovingly at the muddied state of the unclaimed fliers._

_-_

_the man was at the corner again the next day. he took a flier and thanked the boy._

_his hand rested on the boy’s shoulder when he said that, and the boy dug his fingernails into his palms to avoid leaning into it._

_-_

_“it’s credence, isn’t it?” the man murmured, voice rasping and comforting and oh so dangerous._

_credence nodded, and prayed for absolution._

 

**_pars duo - ad praesens_ **

 

_the man stood before the two women, hands fidgeting nervously with the suitcase in his lap, fingers playing over the intricately engraved locks. his eyes darted from side to side as he talked, one leg bouncing up and down._

_“he’s so scared._

_i don’t think he’s sleeping._

_he’s so tired. he needs to sleep.”_

_the blonde woman fiddled with her necklace, and cocked her head to the side. “you’re taking him to london with you. do you want me to take a look at him before you head out? get a feel for his head? i could-“_

_“no!” the brunette exclaimed. she immediately blushed at her exclamation, and cleared her throat. “no, queenie. he’s been through so much. i don’t want all of that in your head.” she paused, looking anxiously at the man. “you’re taking him with you to london? isn’t that risky? what if he…escapes? gets out?”_

_the man’s lips twitched. “do you think the ministry wouldn’t be able to handle a loose obscurus? and besides, he won’t. i’ll…make sure of that.”_

_he hesitated. “i’m just worried._

_i’m worried that he’ll just get worse._

_i’m worried i won’t be able to help him.”_

_the blonde rested her hand gently on the man’s shoulder, before giving it a single pat and withdrawing. “don’t worry, mr. scamander. of course you will.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i don't have time to write a full chapter, usually, on weekdays, but i didn't want to just have ya'll wait until the weekend so! have something to tide you over until next chapter, alright? (if ya'll are waiting around, that is.)


	4. the logistics of a cat's decision

They left early, the following day.

Tina said goodbye to them as the boarded, her hands twisted anxiously together as Newt gently guided Credence up the ramp, one hand resting comfortingly on the other man’s hunched shoulders.

“You only need to be out of the suitcase so they know I have another passenger, okay? I want you to be able to wander, if you want. Once we’re on deck, you can go right back in, if you don’t feel comfortable,” Newt murmured, his voice soothing, the flop of hair over his forehead blowing slightly in the salty wind off the ocean.

Credence nodded complacently, tamping down on the thriving knot of nervousness growing in his chest. A man greeted them at the top, and Credence could feel his eyes scan over the pair. Newt’s hand left Credence’s shoulder, suddenly, the weight of it vanishing in embarrassed hastiness as the greeter’s gaze settled on it.

“Who’s he?” the greeter asked as he accepted their tickets.

Newt cocked his head to the side. “My business associate.”

“Business associate, huh?” there was a mocking sort of skepticism laced through the greeter’s tone, and Credence tightened his hands into fists, focusing on the sharp bite of nails into his palms, digging them in to clear his head of the sudden storm of voices in his head, latching onto the greeter’s insinuations and disdain.

He didn’t catch whatever Newt had said after that, but it was apparently enough to end the conversation, and the greeter allowed them to pass by. Newt led him to a small cabin, a twin bed shoved into each of the corners farthest from the door. Credence waited until Newt chose a bed, and took the unclaimed one, perching uncomfortably on the side of it and folding his hands in his lap.

“What the…” Credence started, and swallowed. “What th-that man said…or what he was…what he meant, I’m…sorry.”

Newt paused, and looked up. “Sorry? Why?”

“He was…if I weren’t here, than he wouldn’t have…well, what said that. Insinuated that.”

Brushing off his hands, Newt frowned. “Insinuated what?”

Credence wasn’t surprised. He tended to be hyper aware of what other people were saying, thinking, intending, even if he never acted on his emotions at what he heard. Sometimes he picked up things that others didn’t. Other times, they hadn’t even meant anything at all, and he was just…making things up.

_you made it up you stupid boy and now newt will know you’re an idiot a sensitive little fragile doll that can’t deal with imagined slights and tones that are even the slightest bit negative_

“I-…never mind. I must have been imagining it. I’m sorry.”

“Oh, there’s no need to apologize, Credence! I rarely pick up on things. I’m certain that whatever it was, you weren’t imagining it. I just didn’t get it. Do you…” Newt paused. “Do you want to tell me what bothered you?”

Credence vehemently shook his head. “No, sir. It w-was nothing. I imagined it. I’m sorry for bothering you.” He shifted his gaze to the suitcase, and tapped his fingers awkwardly against his knees. “Is it…am I allowed to…to go back in again? If not, that’s-“

The suitcase snapped open with a tap from Newt’s wand, and the other man grinned widely. “Of course it’s alright, Credence. I actually have something to show you. I didn’t get the chance, yesterday. I think you’ll love it.”

-

There was an entire world in Newt Scamander’s suitcase, and Credence was surer than ever that he was in the middle of some sort of fever dream. He clutched the doorframe, staring out at the sunlit fields, heart in his throat and pupils blown wide.

_He had had a fever bad enough to lead to this sort of hallucination twice before, thanks to leaflet handouts in the freezing cold rain. His mother had let Modesty bring him cold soup, and whipped him after the fever broke for taking time to get better._

He would wake up soon, and his mother would be alive, belt in hand. Mr. Graves wouldn’t have betrayed him, he-

Newt was smiling so brightly that Credence lost track of his thought process, and returned to the events at hand.

“It’s…how is this possible?” he whispered.

As though he had been waiting for Credence to speak, Newt immediately began to talk. “Magnificent, isn’t it? It took so many extension charms and habitat transportations to get all this in place, but look at the result!” his hands were moving quickly for a moment, almost flapping, before Newt quickly stilled them, shoving the still-trembling appendages into the pockets of his coat.

That was when Credence noticed the animals.

There were so many of them. They were running over distant hills, flying above him, crawling up trees and digging into the earth. Creatures beyond his wildest imagination. He gaped at them, unable to fully process what he was seeing.

“What-“ he croaked; his knuckles were white on the door, standing out starkly from the dark, aged wood.

Newt walked out into the field, and gestured for Credence to follow. He did, obediently, despite the numb shock of his mind.

The numbness, he suddenly noticed, meant that everything was quiet. In the impossible glow of a sun in a suitcase, the gnarled hatred inside of him was, for once, at peace.

Something moved next to him, and he jumped, taking a step back and looking down to see something reminiscent of a cat standing a foot away, plumed tail and large ears perked up, a swollen belly swinging heavily beneath it.

Newt was next to him in an instant, crouching down to run his hands through the thing’s fur. “This is a Kneazle. They’re very like cats, you know, just a little bit more magic. I found Sam a few weeks ago. Poor thing was almost dead, and she’s pregnant, so I took her in. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to get her to leave.” He didn’t sound at all irritated by the notion.

He scooped her into his arms, handling her gently as he lifted her up, cradling her like one would cradle a human baby, and moving slightly closer to Credence. The Kneazle- Sam- sniffed Credence, her large eyes half-lidded, before turning away to nuzzle closer to Newt.

“They’re naturally wary creatures, Kneazles. They know when people are untrustworthy, and don’t much care for strangers. Took a while to get her to trust me.”

Credence looked at Newt, blankly, and the latter ran his hand over Sam’s fur once more. “For being around a stranger, even being with someone she trusts, she’s surprisingly calm. That means she doesn’t see you as a threat. Do you want to come with me to help feed the animals? They’re probably a little cranky after me missing them yesterday.”

He set down Sam and began to tread further into the habitat, Credence following behind, Sam trailing even further back.

_She doesn’t see you as a threat_.

It was remarkable how much turmoil could be caused by a few simple words. Thankfully, the terrifyingly weird and random assortment of creatures that they had to take care of quelled the confusion Credence felt over how anything could _not_ see him as a threat.

_Still_ , he told himself as he extended shaking hands full of seeds towards a glowing, tentacled beast, _she didn’t come closer to you, or touch you. She’s still scared of you._

_she should still be scared of you you could rip her head off skin her wear her fur like a hat destroy-_

_She didn’t think of me as that much of a threat. Can she smell the demon? Can she sense it at all? Does she trust me because she doesn’t know about it?_

It was endlessly confusing that he was internally discussing a cat-thing’s logical reasoning for deciding to approach him at a short distance, but considering that there was a gelatinous creature half-encircling his hand, that was certainly not the most confusing aspect of his life. Newt yelled something intelligible and leapt at the thing, prying it off Credence and whacking it with a rolled up newspaper, reprimanding it in a way similar to the manner in which someone criticizes a dog that just chewed up the carpet.

Once the feeding finished, they returned to the deck.

After about five minutes, Credence began to feel ill.

After ten, he was incredibly nauseous.

After twenty, he was doubled over on his bed, and Newt, who had left the cabin to go check around the area, returned to see Credence green-faced and close to vomiting.

“Mr. Scamander, wh…what’s happening?” Credence asked faintly, one arm locked around his stomach.

“Oh, oh, Credence, this is just seasickness. Here, go into the suitcase. I should’ve thought about that, that’s my wrongdoing. I’ll be in later. There should be a box of rice cakes down there; you’ll feel better if you eat them.”

Credence did not eat them, but he did begin to feel better in the steadiness of the world inside the suitcase.

“She doesn’t think of you as a threat,” he said aloud, tasting the words. Did the Kneazle think he was weak, then? He was. He knew that.

It would be better if she were scared of him, he decided. That way, she wouldn’t feel any comfort around him. That way, she’d avoid him. That way, he wouldn’t be able to hurt her.

The hilarity of the fact that he was hung up on the emotional decisions of what was essentially a cat did not escape him, but he had never been able to truly appreciate humor, and so he passed on by treating it as a joke and moved straight to taking it seriously. After all, that was what he did best.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yo yo yo guess who's late when it comes to writing anything.  
> this chapter is a little lighter than the others, in terms of situations and use of stream of consciousness. do not expect this to be the norm.


	5. an introduction to london

The trip passed by in a blur of tending to a menagerie, intense seasickness, and confinement to their room. Credence avoided contact with the other passengers, instead preferring to keep to the suitcase, out in the fantastically surreal sunlight of the inner habitats. Most people on the boat were unaware of his existence, and the few that were had Newt explaining to them that the younger man’s lack of boat experience had left him ‘dreadfully ill’.

Credence was grateful for Newt’s dutiful prevention of any unwanted interaction, but at the same time, every kind word or action given or performed by the wizard (that’s what they were called, apparently, although Credence still tended to group all magic users as ‘witches’, in his own mind) worsened the aching spread of guilt inside of Credence.

“It’s alright, Mr. Scamander, don’t go to…all this trouble for me. I can go out and meet them. You shouldn’t have to keep explaining,” Credence had said, about six days into the trip.

Newt had looked up, brows furrowing. “Do you want to do that? It’s really not any trouble, Credence. Seasickness is a very common thing. They all understand.

“If you want to meet them, though, you can come out at any time. You absolutely don’t need to ask permission.”

The concept of having to depend on his own feelings instead of others’ whims was incredibly foreign to Credence, so he had ignored it, and rationalized his decision to stay by telling himself that that was what Newt had wanted, to. To keep him out of sight, hidden. _he’s ashamed of you of course he is look at you you’re disgusting and unloveable and you will never measure up to any of his expectations unless he expects you to fail and he does he does he does_

The voices had gotten worse over the two weeks that the trip took. He didn’t tell Newt about them. It was the demon, after all, and the demon had been sent to punish him. He would take his punishment, like he had taken everything else. Submissively acquiescing to every command and desire.

“We’re almost there, Credence!” Newt called, from outside the suitcase.

Credence, who had been sitting on the floor next to the habitat opening, stood, and brushed off his pants. They weren’t really his pants, actually; they were a faded black pair of Newt’s. Most of the clothes he was wearing were Newt’s, in fact. He had not come with a change, after all. The only thing he kept on was the jacket that he wore.

Mr. Graves had given it to him. He hated himself for it, but he needed to keep it.

So he wore Newt’s tattered old clothes and his own feelings of guilt and climbed up the ladder, pulling himself slowly out of the suitcase, nervously glancing at Newt as he closed the suitcase behind him.

“We’ll be on land shortly, Credence, don’t worry. London’s quite lovely. I have an apartment. We’ll get you set up there, and maybe see about getting you…ah, we’ll get to that later. I think we just got to the docks.”

There was the distant yell of one of the boat officials, most likely a call for the passengers to exit the boat, and Newt opened the door, gently ushering Credence out and following him from behind.

“You must be Newt’s friend, Credence!” exclaimed a voice from their left, and Credence flinched as a short woman dressed in an elaborately garish dress bounded over, her husband towering over her as he strolled along beside her. She skidded to a halt in front of them and grabbed for Credence’s hand, her own closing around it and giving it a vigorous, energetic shake.

He immediately snatched it away, praying she hadn’t felt the scars beneath her baby-soft palms.

She hadn’t, it seemed, as her mood hadn’t change. She just talked excitedly as they slowly exited the boat, the sound of dozens of feet plodding down the ramp doing nothing to cover her voice.

She was standing too close to him. So was her husband, loomed above them, his eyes focusing on Credence with an expression of grim distaste. There were bodies everywhere, jostling into all four of them, and Credence stared at his feet, hands clenching at his sides, his breath shortening-

Newt shifted Credence to his other side, away from the couple. “Sorry, you two, we really have to go. We’re on a tight schedule.”

“Oh, it’s no problem, Newt darling. Good luck in your studies, Credence! Maybe I’ll see you two around!” the woman replied cheerily, and the couple was swept away by the crowd as it split into various streams.

Newt had his fingers wrapped around Credence’s right wrist, the latter noticed. He was either nervous, or worried about Credence. Possibly both, given the uncomfortable tightness of the grip.

They hurried away, down the docks, towards the first buildings of the city. The smell of fish was suffocating, and Credence’s already hampered breathing was becoming even more difficult.

They reached a corner, and Newt guided them both into an alley. “I’m going to Apparate us, is that alright, Credence?”

Credence blinked. Newt chewed his lip and continued. “I’m…going to…how do I explain this. I’m going to use magic to take us from one place to another, instantly. The experience is not pleasant, but it is fast. If you would prefer, we could catch the trolley, though.”

Options. Credence didn’t like options. He went with the one Newt clearly had a preference for. “We can Ap…Apparate, Mr. Scamander.”

“Please, Credence, call me Newt. And okay. Here we go. Three, two, one.”

They were there, and then they weren’t. It was like Credence was being dragged through nonexistence, his figure contorting, stretching thin enough to squeeze between the particles in the air, the very fabric of space and time and reality.

And then they were again, standing in a cozy, disorganized room.

Credence swayed, and sat down abruptly, feeling his stomach churn and keeping his lips clamped shut.

“I know, it’s not a good feeling, but-“

“Newt! Huh. I expected you back a little earlier than this, to be honest.”

The voice almost made Credence’s already strained heart stop, and he staggered back to his feet, taking a step towards the wall.

A woman sat at the far end of the room, a book in her lap and a candle lit next to her. Her eyes immediately went from Newt to Credence, and her face went blank. “I’m sorry, who is this?”

“Evelyn!” Newt’s tone was one only of affectionate surprise, so Credence relaxed, a bit, his fingers curled tightly around the wood of a bookshelf. “I’m so sorry, I completely forgot you were staying here while I was gone, I would’ve set a letter on ahead. This is Credence Barebone. Credence, this is Evelyn, a good friend of mine.”

Evelyn narrowed her eyes, slightly, and sighed. “Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Credence. I would stay longer, but I got word a few minutes ago that Katherine’s spare room freed up,” she gestured vaguely at an open letter next to her. “I was planning on heading over there after you got back.”

She pushed herself upwards, brushing off her skirt and tugging her coat off a nearby hatrack. “I’ll be going, then. Lovely to see you again, Newt. And thank you for lending me the place for the month. Peter finally got back to me about the potions, so I should have a fresh batch tomorrow.”

The two hugged, briefly, and Credence got a better look at her. She was tall, about as tall as both he and Newt, with dark skin and shoulder-length curly hair. Very pretty, he noted. He wondered what her relationship was with Newt.

_why do you care why can’t you let him do what he wants or who wants are you that much of a sick freak that you’d want to control who he loves what’s wrong with you do you want him do you want him-_

She left, and Credence gave his head a quick shake. “Potions?” he ventured.

“Oh, yes. Evelyn’s health hasn’t been that good lately. She’s been needing to take these draughts to help fix herself up,” Newt replied, casually.

Credence suspected there was more, but decided not to press it. “She seemed nice.”

“Evelyn’s lovely. Don’t take it too hard if you picked up on any hostility, though. She’s not the most trusting of strangers,” Newt lifted up the suitcase and crossed over, placing it on the chair that Evelyn had just vacated. “It’s late. Are you tired? Do you want to sleep in the suitcase, or would you prefer a room out of it?”

Credence chose the suitcase, based on familiarity.

He didn’t sleep much, he realized an hour later, sitting with his back against the bed. When he fell asleep, it was a light, shallow rest, interrupted by dreams and nightmares and memories.

He didn’t want to sleep much.

There was the sound of footsteps on the ladder, and Credence jolted upright, scrambling to the side of the bed and clawing his way into it, heart rate pounding as the footsteps came closer, and Newt opened the door. Credence could make out his figure through his own squinted eyes, as he tried to mimic sleep.

“You’re awake, aren’t you.”

It was not a question.

He nodded against the pillow.

“Is it alright if I come in?”

Again, Credence nodded.

There was the feeling of someone sitting down on the other side of the bed, and then moving in closer. Newt was a few inches away, the pressure of his body created a noticeable dip in the bed. “You haven’t been sleeping for a long time, have you, Credence.”

“I-“

“It’s okay. I don’t know why I thought it would be that easy. It’s not your fault. For people with histories such as yours…sleep can be a much more negative thing than it would be for someone else. But you need to rest, Credence. If it would make you more…comfortable, I could…er, stay here.”

Credence’s chest tightened.

_why would he want to do that look at what you’re making him do you stupid freakish abnormal wrong fuck what’s wrong with you why are you making him do this_

“If you’re okay with that,” he whispered.

Newt softly pulled the covers down, and then up. He was beneath them, right next to Credence, the warmth of his body suddenly all too unavoidable.

Credence tried to force himself to fall asleep, squeezing his eyes shut and praying silently for peaceful sleep to come.

It didn’t, for a while.

Newt’s arm found its way around Credence’s chest, lightly looping over one side, fingers hovering unconsciously over Credence’s ribs. Credence could feel his heart jackhammering in his chest, and he swallowed, mouth dry.

The weight of the arm against his skin was so comforting.

He did not sleep peacefully, but the nightmares that followed the temporary shut-down did not jolt him awake. They wrestled with his subconscious quietly enough to gift him a painful, but uninterrupted, sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> original characters are featured in this story, but they will Absolutely Not be more prominent than our two main boys.  
> and sorry this is late! my week/weekend has been absolutely exhausting, and i've had no time to write. since vacation is coming up, though, i'm hoping that i'll get a lot more chapters made during that time off!!


	6. interludium ii

**_pars unum - memoriam temporum praeteritorum_ **

 

_“hello.”_

_the boy smiled at the girl in a tense, uncomfortable sort of way that let anyone around him know that the only reason he had approached the girl was because she seemed even more tense and uncomfortable than he himself was._

_she looked up, and scowled, folding her arms over her chest. “hey. what is this about?”_

_the boy mimicked her gesture, although his mimicry did not appear to have been created for the purpose of genuine mockery. “you just looked unhappy.”_

_she raised her eyebrows. “that’s the single most hufflepuff thing i’ve ever heard a person say.”_

_“thank you,” he returned._

_“that was sarcasm, kid.”_

_“oh.”_

_the silence that followed was strained. a twelve-year-old attempting to console a fifteen-year-old, neither adept in the slightest at good social conduct._

_“that was a very slytherin way of saying something?” the boy finally said, the statement curling into a question on the tail end._

_the girl snorted. “there you go.”_

_“i’m newt scamander.”_

_“evelyn torveld. pleasure is all mine.”_

_newt sat down next to her, and she rolled her eyes; they were rimmed with red, and her cheeks carried a faint stain of wetness. “why are you unhappy?” he asked, tentatively._

_“none of your business.”_

_he nodded, as though that was the answer he had been expecting. “okay.”_

_another pause, and she rubbed her eyes again, clearly irritated at her own weakness. “the people in my house are just piles of dung, is all. they won’t let me into my dorm. the goddamn staircase let me up, but oh, no, that’s just not good enough for them, even goddamn after all these goddamn years.”_

_newt nodded again, staring at his hands. “they do sound like piles of dung.”_

_“they are.”_

_they agreed, and both enjoyed that moment of validation from the other. “do you want to meet the giant squid? i know how to get it to come to the surface. it’s a really friendly creature, you know, very sweet.”_

_evelyn scoffed, and continued to sit. a few moments past before she groaned and stood up. “you know what? fine. let’s go meet the giant squid. might as well do something other than sit around and complain, you know.”_

_newt grinned, and lead the way down the stairs, towards the grounds. as they walked, she watched him thoughtfully._

_“do you think we could train it to eat people, or would that be a little much for it?”_

 

**_pars duo - ad praesens_ **

 

_“he had a weird kid with him, katherine. i’ve never seen him before. someone named ‘credence barebone’.”_

_katherine, a short fair-skinned brunette, looked up from the fire she was lighting with her wand. “maybe he picked himself up a lover? newt’s an oscar wilde type, after all, we’ve always known we’d see him with someone on his arm or in his trousers at some point or another, and given what we know about him, i’d imagine that someone to be of a more...masculine inclination.”_

_evelyn huffed. “we definitely wouldn’t see someone in his trousers, kathy, you know that.”_

_“oh, right, sorry, i forgot. but the boy could still be someone he picked up for romantic purposees, you know.”_

_“it just didn’t seem like that. there was this odd energy to him. he didn’t make eye contact, and he flinched and shook, like he was scared of everything. kind of reminded me of one of newt’s animals, actually.”_

_katherine set a teakettle over the fire and tapped it with her wand. “newt doesn’t make eye contact either, evelyn. it’s not that odd.”_

_evelyn pinched the bridge of her nose between her fingers, rubbing it in exasperation. “yeah, but with the kid, it was odd. i think it’s more likely that he is a sort of injured animal. newt most likely wouldn’t have picked up just some random guy. there has to be a story.”_

_“well,” katherine straightened up, tucking her wand into the pocket of her apron. “i hope he isn’t like one of newt’s injured animals.”_

_“why?”_

_“they always turn out to be so dangerous. and someone always ends up getting hurt._


	7. passage of time and a rollercoaster of emotion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> slight trigger warning for sexual assault at the beginning of this chapter.

_He floated aimlessly in a monochromatic kaleidoscope world, the edges of his vision fracturing into fragments of an ever-hungry void, one that constantly threatened to swallow his eyes whole, plunging him into the dark belly of the beast._

_Mr. Graves hovered in front of him. He stretched out his hands and gathered Credence into one place, tugged all the bits and pieces that had scattered themselves throughout the universe back to a single body. His fingers rested gently on the shoulders of the newly-remade Credence, thumbs rubbing soothing, manipulative circles across the skin of Credence’s neck._

_“You’re special,” he whispered, cupping Credence’s chin with one hand while the other trailed down the younger man’s side, looping loosely through Credence’s belt, playing with the buckle._

_Credence was one body, but his mind was gone, still spread through the twilit cosmos, disjointed threads filling his head with incoherent thoughts._ **_He wants this_ ** _, one growled._ **_It doesn’t matter what you want_ ** _, another said._ **_He has done so much for you_ ** _, a third agreed._ **_You don’t want this_ ** _, a fourth wailed._

_Graves’s face was closer, his breath hot on Credence’s face. The belt was twined casually around his wrists, like an ineffective pair of manacles, and his body was touching Credence. “You’re different,” he murmured, but his voice was Mary Lou’s, and they were no longer pressed together. Credence’s hands were bleeding, and he stared at Graves in confusion._

_It wasn’t truly Graves. The voice was Credence’s mother’s. There was something to his smile that was as tight-lipped and disappointed as hers had been, and something to his eyes that was a cold anger quite unlike the false affection and real, burning rage of the body’s true owner._

_The hybrid of Mary Lou and Graves wrapped the belt around Credence’s throat, the edge cutting harshly into Credence’s flesh, cutting off his breath._

_“You’re a freak,” the hybrid screamed._

_“Credence!”_

_The hybrid was gone, but the belt was still there, expanding, swallowing Credence in the too-tight, strangling grip of worn leather._

_Newt clawed at the cocoon. “Credence, you have to_ wake up!”

Credence’s eyes snapped open, and his back arched off the bed, air suddenly rushing back into his lungs. He rolled to the side, shoulders shaking as he choked, gasping for breath.

Newt freed him from the blankets, pulling off the sheet that was tangled around Credence’s chest. “Credence, are you okay?”

It took a few moments before Credence could reply, his heart hammering harshly against his ribs. “I-I’m fine, Mr. Scamander, I’m sorry for-“

He didn’t know what he was sorry for. He just was.

“I woke up and you weren’t breathing. You were just…frozen. I know you need sleep, but I had to wake you up, I didn’t know what to do,” Newt didn’t seem to have registered Credence’s response. His hair was a mess, his face flushed from both fright and effort.

He reached towards Credence, as though to put a comforting hand on some innocent part of Credence’s body, but, involuntarily, Credence flinched away, back hitting the wall as he stared at Newt in a hazy panic. “I’m sorry-“ the younger man began, automatically.

Newt immediately withdrew, knotting his fingers together nervously in his lap. “No,” he interrupted. There was a spark of something like anger in his eyes. “No, Credence, I’m sorry. That was thoughtless of me. You don’t need to apologize.”

The air was thick with quiet discomfort, and Credence’s mind cleared enough for him to realize his palms were stinging. He flexed his fingers, stiffly loosening his fists and staring at the bloody marks overlaid over older scars that he had freshly created.

Newt’s eyes snapped to the blood, and his eyebrows connected. “That looks painful. Do you want me to clean them up?”

Credence shook his head. “I can do it, Mr. Scamander. It’s alright.”

“Okay. Here. Follow me, the bathroom’s just this way.” Newt stood up from the bed and crossed over to a faded wooden door, holding it open as Credence slowly trailed behind, holding his hands out in front of him and staring at the dark red liquid collecting in the folds of skin.

He let Newt help him, anyway; the man was nervous, and given his interactions with his animals, bandaging things up and tending to injuries were the two main methods that Newt employed when he was feeling agitated.

It wasn’t because the process required Newt to gently move his hands over Credence’s, massaging the warm water into the fresh wounds. It wasn’t because, even with the phantom touches of Graves as a constant in his mind, he craved the contact, the feeling of another person against him.

_it is it is you’re a sinner credence all you want is that god damns all people like you credence even if you don’t want it like graves wanted it especially if you don’t want it like graves wanted it because you’re damned if you do and you’re damned if you don’t when you’re something as horrible as you isn’t that right credence_

Newt wrapped a thin layer of white cloth around each of Credence’s hands, sealing the ends together with his palms and sitting back to admire his work. “Do you feel better, Credence?”

He felt many things. Better was not one of them.

“Yes, Mr. Scamander.”

-

Days bled into weeks, and Credence found himself getting more used to living with Newt. Nights had become less chaotic for him. The nightmares had not passed, but he found himself waking up at more reasonable times.

Part of him thought it was that there was no current threat. No fliers to hand out under pain of punishment, no man to deliver news to regarding a potential monstrous child, no beast to keep controlled when so many things set it off.

Another part told him that it was the presence of Newt at his side, the man’s warmth radiating against Credence’s cooler skin, the feather-light brush of skin on skin whenever one or both would shift in their sleep.

A third, much wiser, part explained that it was most likely a combination of the two.

The weeks became a month, and then a second month. Credence was still wary of the visitors that would occasionally come by, but he started to notice things about them, overhearing their conversations with Newt, or watching their habits and understanding their insinuations.

Evelyn did not come by much, but when she did, it usually had to do with something, or someone, dangerous. Credence did not manage to pick up on what exactly was dangerous, but it had something to do with the potion she required. One time, she had needed the contact information of another supplier, because the first one had been shut down. She didn’t seem to like Credence that much, avoiding him to the best of her ability.

There were others, too. Some came in search of creature information. Others needed sanctuary. A man named Alexander stayed in the suitcase, chewing his fingernails and nervously watching Credence practice potion-making (he was actually pretty good at it; it reminded him of cooking for the orphans. Mary Lou was most often giving sermons, so he would help Chastity in the kitchen, and attempt to bring even the slightest burst of flavor to the porridge-like foods). Official-looking men came by, once, but Newt feigned ignorance, and sent them on their way. A little while later, a hooded individual swept in and out in the span of five minutes, swapping their threadbare garb for a silvery cloak that Newt mutely handed them.

As they left, Credence could’ve sworn he saw them vanish.

But overall, time passed calmly. Credence cooked and helped Newt with the animals and found that the demon inside of him was quiet, for the most part.

And he read.

He read all of Newt’s notes, every creature entry and description, learned as much as he could about the studies of his…caretaker? Guardian?

Friend?

Credence was unsure of what to call Newt. But despite any uncertainties, he still read.

At some point, he started to draw. The descriptions were sometimes so vivid. The creases in a lethifold’s cloth-like body, the puffy golden roundness of a snigger, the bulbously monstrous mass of an erumpent. He sketched them, light at first, then darker, more solid.

Eventually, Newt found out.

“Credence!” he exclaimed, his hands full of crumpled drawings, coat askew from climbing down the ladder into the suitcase. “Credence, are these yours? These are beautiful! You have such an eye for detail, I can’t do anything like this!”

“I-“ Credence began. “You’re…you’re not mad…?”

Stunned, Newt’s mouth hung open for a few seconds, and then he gave himself a quick shake. “Mad? Why on earth would I be mad?”

Credence rubbed his thumb against the center of his other palm, gnawing on the inside of his cheek. “Mother didn’t approve of me drawing. She let me…decorate the fliers, but aside from that…”

It took Newt a couple more moments to process that information, and the incredulous expression on his face was almost worth the panic that had engulfed Credence when he had seen his drawings in Newt’s hands. “I would never, never be mad about this,” Newt assured him, and then paused. “Would you like more supplies? I have paints, if you’re more partial to that, or colored pencils. Charcoal, ink, that sort of thing. You can have any of it.”

A beat. “And, Credence, if you want…you’ve been handling the potion making really well. If you’d like to, we can get you a wand. If you don’t want that, it’s okay. I fully unders-“

“A wand?” Credence breathed, not even registering his interruption.

Magic.

_you will burn in hell and you will deserve it for all you have done you witch child_

Magic.

“Yes. If you want one.”

He wanted to be taught. He hated himself for his desire, for his longing, but still he wanted.

“Are you sure?” he asked, voice faint.

Newt nodded. Credence felt light-headed.“Thank you, Newt, thank you so-“ he started, unable to contain a smile.

There was a sort of strangled gasp, and he paused, looking up. Newt’s eyes were fixated on him, and in that brief stillness, their gaze met.

Both of them were silent.

“You…you called me Newt,” Newt managed.

Was Credence imagining the red flush beneath the heavy smattering of freckles?

Credence swallowed. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t…I shouldn’t have…”

“No, no, no,” Newt was animated again. Their connected stare broke, and Newt dropped onto his knees next to Credence, snatching Credence’s hands with his own. “No, no, that’s good. Please, call me Newt. Please, please. That’s good.”

The whole situation was incredibly overwhelming. The feeling of Newt’s hands, so warm against the natural coolness of Credence’s own, callous from scars and work, sent a shudder up his spine.

Bad. This was bad.

He quickly freed himself, and stepped back, wincing as his side connected with the corner of a wooden table. “I should…I have things to…the kneazles haven’t been fed yet, right? I. I should go do that. That’s…”

Newt hurriedly got to his feet, straightening his coat (he always wore that coat, sometimes even when asleep. Credence didn’t know how it wasn’t horribly dirty by now), and smiled, widely. “That’s a good idea. I’m sorry for getting so excited. It was just nice to hear you finally call me Newt, you know?”

Newt had really wanted Credence to call him that. The latter felt a wave of guilt at his selfishness, as well as a flood of confusion at why on earth that would be a momentous enough occasion to warrant that reaction.

He gave himself a shake, nodded, and quickly moved on by, doing his best to avoid any contact, and had one hand on the knob of the door in a matter of seconds.

“And, Credence?”

He paused, looking back at Newt. The man was watching him nervously.

“Yes, M…yes, Newt?”

Newt fiddled with his wand. “You look nice when you smile. You should do it more often.”

Credence escaped into the creature zone and spent a good fifteen minutes in the forest habitat staring at a flock of hungry cat-things with intense confusion and an even more intense blush.

_Not again._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> boy howdy this was a long one. i genuinely thought i had updated earlier? then i found out i hadn't and had to pack it all into one chapter.  
> this one is wild and also goes way too fast because i can't manage time in both fiction and reality.


	8. encounters of the unfortunate and fortunate variety

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hella ableism in this chapter from a certain asshole somebody. he's a dick, much like his grandson.

Newt guided Credence through the winding streets of London, sticking to the backroads, although Credence was unsure whether that decision was made for his sake, or Newt’s. Either way, he was grateful. The hustle and bustle of the city was sometimes even more pronounced than that of New York’s, and escaping it was a relief.

“It’ll be a little crowded, but at least it’s not late August. That’s when the street really floods. All those children preparing for school.”

It sounded like Newt was primarily talking to himself; his voice had taken on an almost wistful tone, most likely reminiscing over something in his own history. The magizoologist snapped himself out of the daze in a moment, and paused. “Have I mentioned where we’re headed?”

Credence shook his head, and Newt blushed, lightly. “Ah, sorry. Must’ve forgotten. We’re off to get you a wand, but I won’t settle for less than the best for you, of course. We’re going to Diagon Alley.”

The name meant nothing to Credence, and Newt’s flush deepened. “Right, right, you don’t know about that. Dragon Alley has the greatest assortment of magical shops in all of England. There, we’ll find Ollivanders. He’s the best wand-maker in the world. He’ll find a suitable fit for you.”

A shopping center for witches. That’s what Diagon Alley was.

Credence was going to be surrounded by witches. Trained witches, with full control over their abilities.

_you’ll be more of a freak in their world than you are in the normal one_

He swallowed. Newt cocked his head to the side. “I should’ve checked before we left. Are you okay with this? I know you haven’t been a part of the magical community, and all of it…might overwhelm you, so if…if you’re not up to it, I can see if he’ll make an exception and stop by…?”

“No, si-…Newt. It’s a-alright,” Credence managed. Newt looked doubtful, and more than a little worried, but just gave his upper arm a gentle, reassuring squeeze, and continued leading him along.

A rickety sign swung from a cramped-looking inn. In faded lettering, it read ‘The Leaky Cauldron’. People scurried on by, not even glancing at the shabby, out-of-place building, and Credence found that, unless he stared right at it, it occasionally flickered out of existence.

While Newt didn’t seem to notice the odd quality of the semi-corporeal inn, his behavior had taken on a note of trepidation, and his hands were tapping nervously against his thighs. He stopped in his tracks and took a deep breath, bouncing on the balls of his feet before continuing, pace slightly faster than before.

“Newt? Are you okay?” Credence asked, hesitantly.

Newt glanced at him, and smiled curiously. “Why?”

“You seem…worried. Or nervous. I’m sorry, I just-“

“No, no, Credence, that’s okay. I admit the, uh…the Leaky Cauldron is not my favorite place. But we’ll be in Diagon Alley in just a few minutes, I promise.”

They had reached the entrance, and Newt opened the door, ushering Credence in first and following behind.

The Leaky Cauldron had a stuffy, almost oppressively comfortable air to it. While it was not packed, there were far more people inside than Credence had expected. Much like Newt’s suitcase, the inside’s size was disproportionate to the outward appearance. A few patrons looked up at the soft tinkle of the overhead bell, but most were lost in their conversations, or perusing a newspaper or a book.

Newt stepped around Credence and approached the bar, where a stocky man eyed him warily from beneath bushy eyebrows. “Hello, Mr. Boot,” Newt ventured.

“Scamander,” the man growled, eyes flickering over to Credence. “Who’s your friend?”

“This is my business partner, Credence. We have some shopping we need to do. I know some restrictions have been put into play since I was last here, and as I understand it, we need your permission, currently, to head into Diagon Alley…?”

Boot went back to cleaning the glasses in front of him. “That’s about right. What business do you have?”

“Just some material purchasing. We’re planning on heading out to investigate an Erumpent sighting in northern Ireland.”

The bartender continued to clean, his motions slow and considering. “Since when do you work with a partner, Scamander?”

Newt’s hands were tapping more rhythmically against his legs; faster, too. “He’s been helping me do research in America for a while. I went there recently to go and collect him.”

“Is that Newt Scamander?” boomed a voice from behind them, and Credence jumped. To his dismay, he saw his reaction mirrored in Newt, who closed his eyes tightly, breathed in, and turned around.

A tall man, well-muscled, with reddish hair, had stood up from his table of three. There were two others with him, although they seemed determined to ignore whatever event was about to take place.

Newt smiled, tightly. “Mr. McLaggen. It’s nice to see you.”

McLaggen moved his chair aside and approached them. Credence took a few steps away, to stand beside Newt. The man was easily a foot taller than both of them, and he clearly took great pride in the imbalance. “Always so polite. We’re friends, aren’t we? No need to be so stilted.”

He brought his hand down heavily onto Newt’s shoulder, patting him twice. Credence watched Newt tense up, his teeth grinding together behind sealed lips.

When he received no response, McLaggen turned towards Credence. “Who’s this?”

“His business associate. Says his name is Credence,” the bartender called, his voice bored, not even looking up from wiping down the counter.

“Business associate?” McLaggen huffed. “Have you finally got a normal friend, Scamander?”

He reached over to clap his other hand down on Credence’s back, but, as per usual, Credence’s reactions were faster. He flinched away, backing into the counter behind him.

_why don't you want him to touch you you let graves touch you you unbearable child you can't handle a simple bit of physical contact what's wrong with you what's wrong with you_

McLaggen paused, and let his hand fall to his side. “Apparently not. You only ever seem to be able to attract freaks, don’t you, Scamander. What’s this one’s deal? Is he like that Alberic kid you trailed after in school? What does he go by now?”

Neither Credence nor Newt responded. The former because he had no idea who ‘Alberic’ was, the latter for his own reasons. McLaggen waited, and heaved a sigh. “Ignore me all you want, Newt. Childish behavior has never been beneath you, after all. So, what, does he have whatever it is you have? The whole…” he trailed off, as though searching for a way to describe it, and noticed Newt’s rapidly tapping hands. “Ah, right, that whole spastic thing. Still not a functioning person yet, Scamander? What sort of functioning person can’t even look someone in the eye without breaking down, right?”

Credence’s head was buzzing. He could feel his blood thundering in his ears, and he was trembling visibly, trying to contain the demon inside of him, although for once, its voice's anger was the same as the rage he felt towards the man in front of him.

_hurt him destroy him prove to everyone what a dangerous unstable monster you are but DECIMATE HIM_

McLaggen spared him a glance. “Your friend here certainly doesn’t seem to be better off than you. At least you’re sticking to your own-“

The man’s voice was cut off with a strangled noise, and Credence refocused on him to see the tie around his throat tightening. McLaggen’s hands shot up to claw at it, and the bartender scrambled for his wand.

Credence could only hear the sound of the thing inside him screaming for release, the grating, cracking screech as it filled his veins and threatened to burst from his skin.

Boot had cast some sort of spell that caused the tie to return to normal, and McLaggen was gasping for air. Gradually, Credence became aware of Newt’s hands in his own, thumbs smoothing over the scars on Credence’s palms.

“Are you alright, Credence?” Newt murmured, and Credence nodded mutely.

“What the _hell_ is wrong with you?” McLaggen shouted. Clearly, he was breathing fine again. Credence found a part of him regretting not tightening the ‘noose’ a little bit more.

Newt put himself partially in between Credence and the irate man. “Credence has been spending most of his time with animals, recently, Mr. McLaggen, he’s-“

“Mr. McLaggen, I’m going to have to ask you to leave if you won’t calm down,” Boot interrupted. He had a hand on McLaggen’s chest, and despite the size disparity, the other man clearly felt slightly cowed by the bartender’s anger. “Mr. Scamander, take your friend to Diagon Alley. Next time you two come here, he’d better have more control over himself.”

“Thank you, Mr. Boot,” while McLaggen sputtered, Newt took Credence’s wrist and tugged him out the back door of the pub, into a small garden in front of a muddy brick wall.

The door shut behind them, and it was quiet.

“Newt, I am so sorry, I didn’t m-mean to…it was an a-accident,” Credence stammered, immediately pulling away and hugging himself, wrapping his arms tightly around his ribs.

_you've ruined everything what have you done you didn't even kill him you were too weak but you're too dangerous and you should be put down like the animal you are you disgust him you disgust everyone_

Newt contemplated him, and then closed the distance between them, his own arms encircling Credence, one hand gently stroking the back of Credence’s head.

_what_

_What._

His shoulders were shaking. It took Credence a second to realize he was laughing, he was so stunned from the affection. “Newt…?”

Newt stepped away. He looked like he was trying to stop himself from laughing harder, containing himself to mere giggles. “Credence, Credence, you have nothing to apologize for. Well…hurting people is wrong, yes, but…you controlled it. I know you wanted to relinquish control, but you didn’t. Plus, McLaggen is…”

“Who is he?”

“We knew each other in school. He was a Gryffindor, so most people thought he was fantastic, but he took a special disliking to me. Evelyn threatened him a few times, but he would always find me when she wasn’t around. That was the first time anyone’s ever almost killed anyone for me,” he snorted, and squeezed Credence’s hands again. “Don’t do that again, obviously, but still. Thank you.”

He was clearly still shaken from the encounter, Credence noted, but he seemed genuinely pleased. Happy, because of something Credence had done. Happy because of Credence.

There was a moment of sudden awkward tension, and Newt turned to the brick wall. “Let’s take a little trip down Diagon Alley, shall we?”

He tapped a few bricks, and the wall broke in half, an arch forming and widening to reveal a cobbled street with about two dozen people going between the suddenly-appearing shops, dressed in odd robes and holding bags and cages and boxes.

They walked along the winding road, Credence gaping at the absolute magic of it all, Newt briefly stopping by a magical beast emporium to say hello to the owner before they continued on their way, heading towards the far end of the street, where a sign atop a dusty door announced that they were in the presence of ‘Ollivanders’.

Mr. Ollivander, as it turned out, was a man a few years older than Newt. He had a toddler with him, unusually quiet for a child of his age, who watched Credence and Newt enter with wide, pale eyes.

“Ah, Mr. Scamander. How do you do?” Ollivander inquired, without turning around. “And your friend?”

“Mr. Ollivander, always a pleasure. This is Credence. I believe Hilda told you I would be coming with an, uh, unusual request?”

“Oh, yes, yes, she did,” Ollivander agreed, in a faraway tone. He stepped off the ladder he was using to examine the cluttered stacks of boxes, and turned, skipping over Newt to focus on Credence. “Aha. Unusual indeed.”

Credence’s hands shook. Newt nudged him softly with his shoulder.

Ollivander left his position behind the counter and approached them, circling them like a cat. “Credence. You have the most odd energy. I’ve never encountered something such as you.”

_something something thing thing thing you are not even a person you are less than that you are a demon a monster_

“He seems like a Squib, Mr. Scamander, but also…not What have you brought me?”

Newt licked his lips. “He did not know he was a wizard until recently. His magic was hidden from him his whole life. But I promise you, he has magic, and he is powerful. He deserves the ability to channel it, does he not?”

Ollivander stared at them unblinkingly. “He does indeed. Perhaps…” he shuffled back behind the counter, and began sorting through the boxes, snatching one from a lower shelf and bringing it over. “Hornbeam and phoenix feather, eleven inches, rigid.”

Newt nodded encouragingly, and Credence picked up the wand, holding it almost reverently in his hands.

“Go on, give it a wave.”

He did.

There was a loud rumbling, and the floor cracked open. Not a huge crack, but a prominent one nonetheless. Credence stumbled, and Ollivander snatched away the wand, reboxing it while Newt mended the floor. “Not to worry, we’ll find you another one. How about this. Pine, kelpie hair core, twelve and a half inches, springy.”

Credence’s hands had just touched the wand when Ollivander removed it, shoving the box back onto the shelf. His son watched them silently, taking in the transaction.

They went through five wands (mahogany, chestnut, ash, rowan, and silver lime) with a variety of cores (the most unusual of which was a kneazle whisker, although Newt clearly didn’t think it would be a good fit, judging by his scoff) before the toddler moved, stumbling across the floor into the back, and reemerging balancing a thin box precariously in his hands.

“What do you have there, Garrick?”

Garrick offered it to his father and returned to his seat, expression the same as before.

Ollivander examined the box. “Willow, thestral hair core, twelve inches, supple. We don’t have many thestral wands left in stock. The main herd we were supplied from has moved on. We’re not sure where they went.”

He muttered a few words to himself and turned, delicately taking the wand out of the box and handing it to Credence.

Almost at once, there was a slight tingle in his hands that spread to his center. It seemed to reach into the monster, quelling it, soothing its agitation. Not caging it, not suppressing it. Calming it.

It was like the wand version of Newt.

“Fantastic work, Garrick,” Ollivander sounded genuinely pleased, and he looked at his son with pride, crossing the room to give the toddler a pat on the head. “You’ll be taking over the family business in no time.”

Newt paid for the wand while Credence continued to gaze at it. It seemed to hum, almost, although he was certain that he was the only one able to hear it. It was a soothing nonexistent noise, and he let it wash over him.

“Mr. Ollivander, do you mind if we take your fireplace back? I would go back the way we came, but McLaggen is in the Leaky Cauldron, and he’s not pleased right now.”

Ollivander chuckled lightly. “Of course. And Credence, willow wands choose those they see as having great potential. Thestral hair creates a powerful wand, and bonded with willow, you may find yourself with something both incredibly loyal and incredibly independent on your hands. Do be careful with it, won’t you?”

Credence nodded, still gazing at the wand. He allowed Newt to shove him lightly towards the fire place, though, looking up when his companion handed him a handful of grey powder. “Now, toss that down, and say, very loudly and very clearly, ‘Scamander residence’. It’ll be a bit unpleasant, but it’ll be over quickly.”

Taking a deep breath, Credence threw the handful at the ground, and repeated the phrase.

It was slightly better than apparition, but still not his favorite, he decided, lying on the ground and covered in a light dusting of soot on the floor of Newt’s ‘house’.


	9. of school, and dredging up the past

“Repeat after me, Credence. _Wingardium Leviosa._ Swish and flick.”

Credence concentrated on his wand, hands shaking slightly around the slim handle. “ _Wingardium Leviosa_ ,” he repeated, copying the motion that Newt had made.

The twig lifted briefly, before tumbling gently back to the ground. Newt’s hovered serenely two feet above it, rotating slowly.

_you will never be able to be a proper witch or a proper person what’s wrong with you what’s wrong with_

He jumped at a soft touch on his hands, and felt his heart stop momentarily as Newt shifted closer to him. “Here, if you’re alright with it, I can show you…”

Credence nodded, mutely, and Newt’s hands (warm and rough and strong and oh dear, oh dear, oh dear) wrapped around his, going through the motions of the spell.

It had been approximately three weeks since they had purchased the wand, since they had encountered McLaggen in the shabby dimness of the Leaky Cauldron, and Newt had told Credence that he was shockingly adept with spells (“You’re exceptionally powerful, do you realize? A simple _Accio_ and you’ve got everything coming to you! It’s incredible!”).

Credence didn’t feel particularly adept, with the twig barely twitching with each attempted _leviosa_. He didn’t know what it was. His pronunciation, maybe. He couldn’t keep his hands steady enough, perhaps.

But Newt’s fingers were rubbing against his own, and his mind was blanking on his own insecurities.

“Just like that, see?”

Credence’s mouth felt dry. “C…could you show me again? I’m sorry, I wasn’t concentrating hard e-enough.”

He felt Newt laugh, his chest brushing against Credence’s arm. “Don’t worry, it’s not that difficult. Just do it like…” he demonstrated, “this.”

Credence nodded, and crushed the wave of disappointment that followed when Newt detached from him. He took in a deep breath. “ _Wingardium Leviosa_.”

The twig shot straight up, flying towards the sky and knocking aside Newt’s twig on the way. It stopped about twelve feet up, and drifted lightly up and down.

Newt was smiling delightedly, his hands clasped together. “Would you look at that! You’re remarkable, Credence. I remember trying these spells for the first time and the twig wouldn’t even budge.”

_You’re remarkable, Credence._

“Newt, would…” Credence hesitated, fiddling with his wand. “Would it be alright if I asked you to…if you told me about…” what was the name…right. “Would you tell me about, um, Hogwarts?”

Newt, who had started coaxing Credence’s escaping twig down, paused, and looked around, cocking his head to the side. “Of course! I’m surprised you haven’t asked before, actually. I’ll make us some hot chocolate. Hot chocolate’s your favorite, right?”

It was. Tea was all well and good, but the indulgent rich sweetness of chocolate was a method by which Credence could find a way to free himself from his mother’s influence. It was almost a rebellious act, to drink it.

Newt launched himself at the flying stick, grabbed onto it, and was tugged up several feet before the animated inanimate object gave up the fight and dropped obediently, as did Newt.

-

The mirror was clean, for once.

For the entirety of Credence’s time in Newt’s suitcase, the mirror had been caked in dust. Credence had assumed that, much like himself, Newt didn’t enjoy looking at his own appearance (also, given that the man tended to keep whatever hair he woke up with in the morning, it was possible that he just forgot to clean it and make sure he looked presentable).

The dust, however, had been wiped off, leaving a clear, if scratched-up, surface behind.

He hadn’t looked at himself in months.

His face was slightly fuller, cheekbones less pronounced, the shadows they cast smaller. He was tanner, too, the pallor of his skin replaced by a bronzer, more olive tone.

The most disturbing part was his hair. It was longer, a slight curl replacing the flat straightness of the brutally short cut his mother had given him ever month or so. He had noticed the unfamiliar tickle over the past weeks, the occasional strands that got in the way of his vision, but had always disregarded it.

He ran his fingers nervously through it, chewed fingernails scraping against his scalp.

_you look terrible and newt thinks so too_

It was the pettiest thing the voice had ever said. Credence almost laughed. He didn’t, though. The very fact that the voice existed sucked the humor out of any situation it involved. Whether it was a symptom of his own mental instability, or the voice of the demon (Obscurus. Newt had overheard him call it a demon, and given him a quick, educational explanation of why that was a very bad way of thinking). Either way, it wasn’t exactly a positive.

“Credence! The hot chocolate is ready. Shall we take a trip down history lane?”

Credence started running his fingers more hurriedly through his hair before realizing what he was doing and stopped. There was no need for styling. He didn’t need to look good. There was only one person there, and that person was Newt.

He ignored his reflection and closed the door behind him, tucking a lock of his hair nervously behind his ear and then returning it to his original position, irritated at himself.

Newt was sitting by the fire, two cups of hot chocolate in front of him, a blanket tugged around his shoulders and a second folded neatly next to him. Credence took a seat next to him, taking the blanket and unfolding it over his legs. Newt passed him a cup and took a sip from his own.

“There are four houses, you know, at Hogwarts. There’s Gryffindor, which is for the brave and bold. Quite aggressive, that lot. McLaggen was one of them. They don’t like to bring up that Gryffindor students often become bullies, there. They tend to only bring up Slytherin misdeeds. Slytherin’s the…scapegoat, I suppose. They’re ambitious, and loyal, to their friends. A lot of dark wizards come from that house. But Evelyn actually was a Slytherin too, so they’re obviously not all bad. There’s Ravenclaw, which is where those who value intelligence the most end up. They’re a funny lot. Never interacted with them much. And then there’s Hufflepuff, which is…was my house. Honesty, hard work, loyalty…”

Credence swirled the marshmallows in his cup. If those traits were what made up Hufflepuff, Newt was truly the model of the house.

“You’d be a Hufflepuff too, I think. Or a Slytherin. You’ve got an intensely loyal heart, Credence, and that’s one of the most prominent traits for both,” Newt interjected into his own explanation, tilting forwards slightly to put his drink down onto the saucer. He then continued on, as though his words hadn’t brought a flush to Credence’s cheeks. “But yes. I went there at the age of eleven, and I was sorted almost instantly into Hufflepuff. The Scamanders are a Hufflepuff family, through and through. Unfortunately, I didn’t exactly…fit in, in there.”

“Is it because of what Mr. McLaggen said?” Credence interrupted, and the blush worsened. “I’m sorry for interrupting, and for…I didn’t mean-“

Newt bumped their shoulders together, affectionately. “Don’t worry, Credence. But yes, McLaggen is accurate, even in an insulting way. ‘The whole spastic thing’, as he calls it, did interfere with life at Hogwarts. People thought I was odd, or annoying. Too fidgety, too awkward. I didn’t exactly have many friends. I had many people, though, who were quite far away from being friends and would have been classified as enemies if I had returned any of the animosity they showed towards me. But there were some who I got along with. Evelyn was one, L-Leta Lestrange another, and Nadir Tahan.

I had an early affinity for the animals on the grounds. Sometimes I’d sneak down to the edge of the Forbidden Forest and say hello to some of them. I got caught, once, but Dumbledore, one of the teachers there, vouched for me when I said I had heard something crying and just wanted to help. And when I started up Care of Magical Creatures…that was my top subject, of course. The teacher, a fellow by the name of Kettleburn, really took a liking to me.”

That sounded about right. Of course the teacher of a class about magical animals would like Newt, the man who made it his career to find and preserve undiscovered species.

“Unfortunately, in my fifth year, one of L…there was a slight accident with a Jarvey, and a student was hurt. I was expelled. Dumbledore strongly protested the expulsion, but…the endangered girl’s parents were very upset by the event, and their lawyer was one of the best around. The staff couldn’t exactly keep me around once i had been branded a ‘mentally unstable antisocial menace’, now could they.”

Credence furrowed his brow, and Newt shuddered, as though stuffing all those feelings underneath a rug and straightening it out so as to pretend said feelings did not exist. “But while I was there, it was lovely,” he continued, face lighting up. “The staircases moved of their own accord. The halls were lit by torches, with sentient paintings everywhere. The classes were fascinating, the forest even more so…I wish you could see it, Credence. You would love it. America’s top school, Ilvermorny, is wonderful and all, but Hogwarts is truly the best. I wish you could have gone.”

“I don’t think I would have fit in there, either, Newt. I mean, if you didn’t…” Credence took another sip from his drink and contemplated the melted foam of marshmallows on top. From the corner of his eye, he noticed movement, and turned to see that Newt had leaned back, eyes on Credence and lips spread in a fond smile.

“Maybe. But if people found us odd, we could’ve not fit in together, right?”

Credence tapped his fingers against his mug and put it down on the table. He watched the hot chocolate ripple from the impact, and then tilted to the side, tentatively coming to rest his head on Newt’s shoulder.

He heard the breath catch in Newt’s throat, muscles tensing, before the man relaxed, one hand coming up to ruffle Credence’s hair.

“Your hair looks good, you know. I understand if you want to get it cut, but either way, I like it. If you want to keep it long, it…it looks good like this.”

Sometimes, Newt had the scariest ability to tell what Credence was thinking about. Newt was not the most observant person when it came to other people, so perhaps Credence was just very easily read.

He suppressed the self-conscious desire to pull away from Newt, and concentrated on the touches of Newt’s fingers. “I think I’m going to let it grow out, if that’s okay. It…I just…”

“You don’t need to explain, Credence. If you want to grow it out, you can.”

The fire sparked gently, crackling in the background and casting soft shadows on Newt’s face.

Credence could see Newt’s chest rising and falling from where his head was pillowed on Newt’s shoulders. There was a weight on his own, as well, where Newt’s arm was rested.

Newt was looking at him, curiously, eyes meeting Credence’s.

They were so close to each other.

_Graves’s face was inches away from his own, one hand gripping Credence’s hip harshly, the other curled around the back of Credence’s neck._

_“You’re special, Credence. There are very few I’ve met who are like you.”_

_He leaned in slightly closer. His breath smelled strongly of something Credence couldn’t place. Something like rotten fruit, thick and overwhelming. “Credence, it’s alright to want things. Your mother may disagree, but it’s alright.”_

_His fingers were beneath the band of Credence’s belt. “You want to help me, Credence, don’t you? I can help you, too. I can give you what you want. What you crave.”_

_Credence didn’t protest against the hunger of the kiss that followed._

Credence gritted his teeth and pulled his head away from Newt’s shoulder, hunching his shoulders and taking another mouthful of his drink, so as to have something to do with himself.

Whatever had been building up there abruptly vanished.

Newt’s fingernails clicked repetitively against the ceramic of his mug. “You likely wouldn’t have gone to Hogwarts, though. You’re an American, after all, you would’ve gone to Ilvermorny. They have a house system there, too, although I don’t know much about it.”

He, too, took a drink. “Tina went there, actually.”

It had been a while since Credence had thought about Tina. He could feel questions bubbling up, and he clenched his fingers around the handle of his mug. _Don’t ask about Mr. Graves._

“Newt, what…what happened to the others? The children that M-Mother took care of? After I…after…”

“They were taken care of, Credence, don’t worry. Tina saw to it that they were adopted into other families. Your sisters, Modesty and Chastity, were cared for, too. They were Obliviated, and then Modesty taken in by this couple in Brooklyn, and Chastity employed at a…I forget what, but she’s happy now, I think.”

“Obliviated?” Credence asked.

Newt glanced at him. “Oh! Oh, right, of course. The MACUSA- the magical government of America- wiped their memories of the incident. They couldn’t have Muggles running around after seeing all that they did.”

Their memories had been wiped of the incident. They had forgotten how Credence had transformed, had murdered Mary Lou, had destroyed so much of the city, had-

Had they forgotten him?

“Were they…were they wiped of everything? I…would they remember me?”

There was a moment of uncomfortable quiet. “They do, I think, but they’ve likely received a story explaining why you’re not there.”

It was a lie. Newt wasn’t good at lying.

Credence had taken the fall for Modesty’s transgressions countless times. He had scars on his palms, back, stomach, legs, to prove it. He was a living reminder of every misdeed the two had ever committed.

Now, he was the only one whom the scars would remind of anything.

“They’re happy, Credence. Tina said they’re adjusting well to life outside of Mary Lou’s control. They’re well cared for, Credence.”

Credence was happy for them. He was glad they would be able to forget.

He wondered if he wanted to be counted among the forgetful.

But the forgetful would never know Newt, and if they had, they would not remember.

He was happy for them. He did not wish to join them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i really, really want to thank everyone who's been commenting.  
> i've been having kind of a tough time recently, with friendships and my own mental state, and if it weren't for ya'll, i wouldn't have the energy or the motivation to continue this. but knowing that people want to read more makes me want to write, and writing makes me feel better.  
> thank ya'll so much. i hope you've enjoyed this chapter <3


	10. interludium iii

**_pars unum - memoriam temporum praeteritorum_ **

 

_there was dust and ash thick in the air. the boy, no more than four or five, was crouched on his hands and knees, splinters embedded in his palms, pupils shrunk to pinpricks in wide, dark eyes._

_“mama?” he whimpered. he was shaking, feet pinned by a fallen beam. his fingernails were torn and bleeding from tearing at the floor, trying to pull his way out from beneath it. “mama, please, please wake up.”_

_his mother was collapsed a few feet away. her hands were outstretched towards him, her eyes blank and mouth slightly parted, a trickle of blood leaking out from between her lips, joining the steadily-growing pool soaking her clothes and gathering the soot covering the cement floor._

_the boy hiccuped gently. tears cut through the smears of black and red on his cheeks. “mama, please,” he whispered. “mama, you have to open your eyes now, okay? mama, it’s…mama, the sun is rising, do you see? it’s so pretty, mama. open your eyes and see it, mama. it’s so pretty.”_

_footsteps rang through the smoke-heavy air, and the boy jerked around._

_a woman, face cold and expressionless, was standing in the wreckage. she stared passionlessly at the body, before her gaze flicked to the boy. her eyebrows raised slightly, and she approached, kicking aside a scorched menorah and slowing to a stop in front of him._

_“so you’re the witch’s son?”_

_the boy made no sound._

_“pull that board off of you and come with me. maybe we still have time to save your soul.”_

_“i want my mama,” the boy replied, voice hoarse, angry in a terrified way._

_the woman cast another glance at the corpse. “your wicked mother got what she deserved, credence.”_

_the boy’s hands tightened together into fists. “my name isn’t credence. it’s-“_

_“some sort of witch name, i presume. no. your name is credence. now get up.”_

_she kicked at the board and it shifted, allowing for the boy to pull himself free. he stumbled to his feet, and immediately ran to his mother’s side. or rather, attempted to do so. the woman caught his upper arm in a tight, painful grip, fingernails piercing through the thin cloth of his shirt. “the witch is dead, credence. leave the body for the dogs.”_

_“i want my mama! let me go! i want my mama!” the boy demanded. everything in him wanted to get to his mother. if he could just get to her side, she would wake up. she would move, and scare the lady away with flashing lights and strange words. “and my name isn’t-“_

_the woman’s hand cracked across his face. he staggered, vision going black for a second from the sheer, stinging agony. she knelt, and caught both of his hands, gripping them crushingly tight and smiling coolly. “your name is credence, now, do you understand? i am mary lou barebone. i will be caring for you in the face of this…” she paused, eying the blood on the floor, “tragedy. you will be raised among godly people, credence, away from the satanic deception of these liars and freaks. now come along. your mother isn’t coming back.”_

_she tugged him away while he was still too stunned to react. a girl, about his age, was standing on the sidewalk, hands folded behind her._

_“chastity, it is time to go. this is credence.”_

_“are we saving him?” the girl asked._

_mary lou smiled. “of course, chastity.”_

_the smile did not reach her eyes._

 

**_pars duo - ad praesens_ **

 

_chastity sat up in bed, her heart fluttering in her chest like a caged bird. modesty was curled up beside her, breath gently blowing aside the long strands of pale blonde hair._

_she had been having a dream, or a nightmare, of some sort. there had been a boy- no, a young man- who had stared at her, eyes white and empty, gashes covering his skin like red, bleeding ribbons. he had looked at her accusatorially, and asked her something. it had been garbled, although she wasn’t sure whether that was thanks to memory, or how he had actually spoken in the dream._

_then he had dissolved into smoke and surrounded her, filling her lungs, and choking her. the words ‘this is your fault’ had been repeated over and over again, until there had been nothing but churning darkness and damnation._

_at least modesty slept peacefully._

_chastity had found modesty years ago, when both were living on the street. she had had to raise the younger girl by herself, taking part-time jobs in an effort to save up enough for a place to live. finally, chastity had managed to land a job at the grocery store, and had earned enough to afford a little apartment for the two of them._

_the nightmares came occasionally. she only remembered them when she woke up in the middle of the night; remembered all of them. then, when morning came, they would be gone._

_she dreamt of a woman, too. a cruel woman, dressed in robes like a priest, surrounded by a halo of glowing light, roses laced into her hair, their thorns fashioned into a crown that she placed upon chastity’s head, pressing it down until the sharp edges were so embedded in chastity’s skin that she was blinded by the running blood._

_the young man was there, too. he was encased by thorns, wrapped up so tight in their harsh embrace that he couldn’t move or stand still without incredible pain. his clothes were soaked from blood and tears._

_“why are you doing this?” she always asked the woman._

_“it is for your souls, you ungrateful children,” the woman always replied._

_chastity stared at her hands and raised her fingers to run gently over her forehead._

_there were no thorns._

_she fell back asleep, and did not remember in the morning._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ayiyi, i am very sorry for not updating sooner. school and depression and insomnia make for unpleasant times. here's an interludium; i'm hoping i can get a full chapter out soon, but it might not be until the weekend. my apologies, ya'll.


	11. what you've done

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter warnings for: semi-graphic description/discussion of sexual assault, suicide discussion.

“This was incredibly stupid of me. I can’t believe I dragged you along for this,” Newt muttered. He was bouncing nervously on the balls of his feet, back pressed against Credence, one arm flung slightly out to the side in order to offer the other man more protection.

Somewhere nearby, there was the sound of a cloak fluttering in the breeze. The grass was grey, the flowers drooping alongside the clear-cut path of death.

“I have to apparate you back, Credence, I can’t-”

“Newt, if you leave now, you’ll…this thing is very dangerous. You said so yourself. You can’t afford to lose it again,” Credence had been getting a little more comfortable interrupting Newt. Primarily, this was because Newt’s ideas tended to be either incredible hazardous or completely nonsensical, and he needed someone with a tad more common sense to bring him back to earth.

Truth be told, Credence didn’t know much about the creature they were stalking, or if it even was a creature. The only mentions of it he had found when going through Newt’s library were in accounts of the wizarding prison, Azkaban. Apparently, ‘dementors’ were the guards. Descriptions were unfavorable.

“Remind me to teach you the Patronus charm when we go home, okay, Credence? It’s unbelievably useful. I don’t understand why I haven’t taken the time to show you yet.”

Credence opened his mouth to respond and froze. The sound of the cloak had come again, this time accompanied by a rattling intake of breath and a drop in temperature.

Newt raised his wand, peering through the trees, trying to use the last light of the sunset to navigate the Norwegian forests.

Something moved in between the branches, about twenty feet to the left of them. Newt narrowed his eyes, muscles tensing. The movement came again, a brief flicker of darkness. “ _Expecto patronum_!”

A large, silvery beast burst out of the tip of his wand. It was blindingly bright, mane flowing and horn glittering as it charged towards the source of the noises. Newt, caught up in the moment, chased after it, the enchanted net he had had bunched up in his arms flapping behind him.

Credence stayed where he was, heart beating rapidly, the echo of the unicorn imprinted on the backs of his eyelids.

It was still so cold.

It all changed so quickly.

The rattling breath came again. His eyes snapped open, and his heart, jumping so quickly in his chest, stopped its antics and let time stand, briefly, still.

The dementor loomed in front of him, the hood of its cloak casting shadows over the rotten holes of its face. Its mouth was stretched open, revealing a dark, empty tunnel, one that seemed to extend on forever. It breathed in, deeper, and Credence’s back slid down the tree.

_“Who was that boy?”_

_“He was no one, Ma, I promise, I-”_

_“I saved you from your witch mother, and you repay me with more sin? You think God will overlook this filth and welcome you at the gates as though nothing had happened?”_

_“Ma, I swear-“_

_“Sinning requires repentance, Credence. Give me your belt. Follow me.”_

_“Ma-“_

_“Do not ‘ma’ me, boy. Give. Me. Your. Belt. Good. Now come with me. And I forbid you from ever seeing him again. If I catch you anywhere near him again, I will cast you out into the street. I will not permit such_ -“

The memory transitioned into another, as though the creature was filtering through his life, picking and choosing which moments it was to replay.

_“Chastity, you know I did not do anything, please, you must tell Ma before she-“_

_“I know nothing of the sort, Credence. You deserve whatever hand you are dealt.”_

Its fingers brushed his cheek, clammy, comforting in a way, and through hazy vision he saw it drawing closer.

_“You’re a Squib, Credence. I could smell it on you the moment I met you.”_

He was so cold.

He could feel himself disintegrating.

He could no longer see-

Light.

The fingers were gone, a writhing mass of darkness and limbs trapped beneath the glittering gold of a jinxed net. More touches came, more welcome than the others, but less tangible. Or was it Credence who was less…everything? He couldn’t think clearly. He could see in every direction.

“It’s alright, Credence, it’s alright. I’m so sorry. I knew I shouldn’t have brought you. But please, Credence, come back. I’m here. I’m here.”

The way Newt gathered him together was unlike the way that the memory of Graves did. Graves, in Credence’s dream, pulled him into one being to achieve the goal of physicality. Newt pieced him back together to reject the concept of formlessness.

He obeyed the rejection, and came from himself back to himself.

-

He woke.

The blankets were heavy and coarse, tucked tenderly around him like the swaddling of an infant’s wrapping. He wriggled out from their grasp and sat up, closing his eyes against the familiar wave of dizzying blackness that came with a sudden change in position.

When he opened his eyes, he took in the blearily familial scene.

Sam, the kneazle, was curled up at the foot of his bed. So were her kittens, their large heads perking up at the shifting of the blankets. One of them meowed loudly, clearly complaining as Credence’s foot stopped being a pillow and returned to its status as appendage.

Newt was slumped over in a chair, hair mussed, blue coat rumpled. He was wearing a stained undershirt and baggy pants underneath it, and outfit more casual than Credence was used to him wearing. The shaft of sunlight bleeding through the window illuminated his freckles beneath the curtain of uncombed bangs.

Credence swallowed the wave of affection and coughed, first lightly, then a little louder.

Newt jerked upright and fell of the chair with a muffled curse. Credence repressed a laugh and offered a hand to help his friend stand up.

“You’re awake!” was the first thing Newt said after he spat out the mouthful of fur that falling face first onto the floor had granted him.

“How long was I asleep?”

Newt glanced at the cats. “About twenty-four hours. That,” he continued at Credence’s incredulous expression, “is not a lot, considering your experience. Practically no one gets that close to a dementor and comes out no worse for the wear. And when that proximity is combined with your history…it’s a bit of a recipe for disaster.”

“I’m sorry, I should’ve-”

“No, Credence, I should never have brought you along. You’re not ready for a dementor. You don’t even know how to cast a Patronus charm. It was irresponsible of me, and I put you in danger.”

“Did…did I turn into an Obscurus? I remember…not feeling whole.”

Newt scratched his cheek, looking for the right words. “Yes. But, _but_ , not completely. You started to, but you held yourself together quite commendably. I don’t know what that dementor was making you relive, but it would’ve been understandable for to have gone all the way. And I’m sorry I put you in that situation. You weren’t ready.”

“But I _want_ to be ready, M…Newt. I want to be able to help you, and, and not…not be just a burden that you have to protect.”

“You want to learn the Patronus charm?”

“I-if you’ll teach me, yes. You said it’s more difficult magic. I want to learn more difficult magic, if you’re willing to let me.”

Newt leaned forwards, arms crossed loosely over his knees. “It wouldn’t be entirely pleasant,” he warned. “The Patronus charm is typically taught in a simulated setting.”

“I want to learn.”

“‘Simulation’ means we need to reenact the same scenario that you were just in. Side effects and all.”

“Please, Newt. I need to be able to protect myself.”

Newt’s hands bunched repetitively around the folds of his sweatpants. Credence felt his resolve waver. “Wait, I…if you’re not…if you don’t want to, Newt, I don’t want to make you. I’m sorry, it’s…”

“No, no, you’re right. We’ve been working primarily with basic spellwork. There’s an entire world of magic out there. I should get you started.”

The kneazle meowed loudly, one of the kittens clambering up Credence’s leg, claws digging through the blanket into his knee.

Newt reached forward and plucked it off the bed, fiddling with its large ears. “But we should wait until you feel a little better, yes?” he continued, softly patting the place where it had been perched, hand clapping down on Credence’s cloth-covered thigh. Credence felt his cheeks heat up, and Newt’s hand jerked back, as though both had realized what was happening. “I’ll go heat up some soup,” Newt said, voice ever so slightly strained. “It seems like you could use it.”

-

It took until the next morning for Newt to admit that Credence was fit enough to practice ‘advanced magic’, as he referred to the charm. Credence didn’t like remaining useless in bed, but Newt, ever the paternal (or, given that he referred to himself as the ‘mother’ of his creatures, maternal) character, seemed to thrive on giving attention to an invalid. It was possibly the happiest Credence had ever seen him.

_he’s only happy because you’re out of the way and you know it you know it_

The voice made less sense, nowadays.

“Alright, Credence. Remember how I told you that we had to cast a sort of illusion to hide you from the MACUSA? The day you first went into my suitcase?”

Credence nodded. They were in a deserted area of said suitcase, in a half-built habitat not yet prepped for any residents. He felt his wand hum gently in his hand, coaxing the Obscurus into a calmer state of mind.

“We’ll be doing something similar. It’s a complicated bit of magic, a mix of well-learned and experimental spells. It even has special effects, as though it’s actually a real, physical manifestation. I will also be casting other experimental magic that will elicit a dementor-esque reaction from you. If at any time, you or I deem the situation out of hand, I will stop immediately.”

He sounded more formal, professional, as though he were reciting something he had heard many times before. His nervousness was betrayed by his movements, fluttering hands and shifting feet.

“To create a patrons, you need to think of your happiest memory. Summon it to the forefront of your mind, allow it to consume all other thoughts, and focus on creating a creature that embodies the emotions of that memory.”

Credence nodded mutely, and Newt raised his wand, murmuring inaudibly to himself and making quick, jerky gestures at the field in front of them.

The thing that he created was not unlike the Obscurus. It was a writhing mass of darkness, emanating cold, the very air around it stiffening into suffocating stillness. Credence felt the oxygen leave his lungs, suddenly, and, with shaking hands, pointed his wand at the apparition.

His mind flashed back, searching for a memory.

First entering the suitcase and finding the magical creatures behind the door, feeling the pure exhilaration of being surrounded by nothing but magic.

“ _Expecto patronum!_ ”

Nothing came, of course. It was not pure exhilaration. There was too much taint from fear and pain and guilt.

Newt buying him his wand.

“ _Expecto patronum!_ ”

Not yet. The wand was a symbol of how very wrong he was, from the thestral core to its odd relationship with his demon.

Newt telling him about Hogwarts, sitting on the couch with him and drinking hot chocolate.

“ _Expecto…_ ”

The thing was close. He could feel all memories with traces of happiness beginning to evaporate.

Newt hugging him after the encounter with McLaggen…no, that one was far too complicated.

His mother, him on her knee as she taught him how to read, letting him braid her long hair and fiddle with her wand, an object as elegant as she-

His mother broken beneath the collapsed, burning rubble, his mother gone, a memory buried beneath the face of another, far crueler mother.

“ _Ex…_ ”

Newt’s arms were around him again, not a memory this time. The dementor-like creature was gone, reabsorbed into nonexistence, and Newt’s hands were rubbing soothing circles across Credence’s back. “I’m sorry, Credence, I’m so sorry…shh, shh, it’s alright, it’s okay.”

Was he crying? It felt like it.

It was better than the dementor. There was no loss of consciousness, none of that overwhelming, all-consuming frigid hopelessness. But the voice’s whispers filled in for that, hissing around in the back of his school, bringing the agony of disunity to the forefront of his thoughts.

“Shh, shh, it’s okay, I’m here.”

Credence pulled away. Staggered back to his feet, staring at the place where the creature had been.

They tried again the next day. Credence tried again. And again. Day after day, refusing to let Newt vanish the creature for too long. He kept trying, until Newt was begging him to slow down, to take a break.

Eventually, Credence did break, falling to his knees as the almost-illusion, hands digging up handfuls of dirt from the ground as Newt rushed over, all too ready to hold him, to dry the tears that fell unwillingly (as though he were a wounded animal. In most ways, he supposed he was).

Credence buried his face in the crook of Newt’s neck and breathed him in in deep, shuddering gasps. “It didn’t work,” he whispered. “Why doesn’t it work? W-why can’t I…I’m…”

Newt’s arms tightened, comfortingly suffocating, and he began to rock both of them back and forth, Credence almost boneless, kept up entirely by Newt’s seemingly endless supply of support.

_you’re broken forever credence you’ll never have enough happiness to be able to be of any use you’re going to lose your soul to the dementors and you’re going to cost newt his as well you waste of space you void of use_

“If it helps-“

_you’ll never be able to amount to anything credence you’ll never be able to move on and you’re going to be consumed by yourself soon enough_

“-we can talk-“

_you need to leave newt before you come to pieces and take him with you_

“-about everything, about-“

_you’re weak and he’s fragile and you’re going to destroy him because you’ll never be able to keep it together you disgrace_

“-everything that-“

_you’re absorbing all of his affection and trust and you never give him anything in return why don’t you leave him or kill yourself and save him the trouble of caring for something like you_

“-comes to mind when the dementors face you, I-“

_you can do it it’ll be so easy just let yourself tear yourself into shreds that no one will remember_

“-think it’ll help you to overcome all of it. Are-“

_or just find a bridge or a knife but you’ve tried so many times already do you really think this one time you’ll finally be strong enough to see it through_

“-you okay with that idea, Credence?”

_you won’t be able to do it you’ll never talk never tell him and you’ll just slip away into silence and anger and eventually you’ll be so quiet that the demon will take over and no one will even notice the difference_

Credence’s fingers were knotted tightly in the folds of Newt’s coat, eyes open and staring into the shadows beneath Newt’s chin.

“Credence?”

_you won’t be able to say anything_

He pressed himself closer and squeezed his eyes shut. _If you want me to,_ “I-I’ll talk.”

Newt wanted him to. His own desires, his own fears, were unimportant in the face of Newt’s desires.

He was fine. He was fine.

They continued to rock, slowly. “What do the dementors, or…or the illusions, what do they bring to mind?”

“I see Ma,” Credence replied, and Newt made a noise in his chest, a combination of uncharacteristic disgust and characteristic pity.

Pause. Consider. “And…I see my m-mother. My…real one.”

“Your mother?”

Credence nodded.

“Why do you see her? Was she like M-“

“No!” Credence cut through, vehemently. “No, she was nothing like Ma…Mary Lou.”

He couldn’t see Newt’s face. “Do you see her death? She did die, correct? I’m sorry, that’s…that was so insensitive of me, I’m really not…”

“I do. She…”

Pause. Consider. “She was a witch. She…I was with her until I was f-four, I think. But she…I don’t really understand what happened. M-Mary Lou was…she knew she was a witch. She did something. The house was…my mother was crushed and burnt right in…right in front of me. And Mary Lou found me in the wr-wreckage, and took me in.”

The hand on his back continued to move, pressing just hard enough to make Credence feel something again.

Guilt. He felt guilt. He unloaded his story onto Newt, told him all his pains and fears and memories, and Newt took it all in like a too-forgiving sponge.

Newt was so kind. So willing to put up with everything that Credence did wrong, every mistake, every error. Any thanks that Credence offered never felt enough.

He remembered how Mr. Graves had taken thanks. Mr. Graves had done so much for him, and in return he had asked for very little, much like Newt. But Mr. Graves had lied. But he had still helped him.

Credence was so tired. He was so confused. Newt was waiting for more, expectant, wanting to understand, wanting to help. Relentlessly helpful and unbelievably hopeful, and nothing Credence gave could ever make up for it all.

Credence was so tired.

He remembered how Mr. Graves had taken thanks, with fistfuls of hair and knees scraping on the filthy alley. And Credence was grateful to Mr. Graves for only rarely going further, only cajoling hands to the ground as well as knees on two occasions, only moving from ahead to behind twice, and so he thanked Mr. Graves for that blessed rarity in a way that required more kneeling and less bending.

Newt dealt with everything. Newt was thoughtless as to his own pain, his own regrets and hurts. He was always there.

He remembered how Mr. Graves had taken thanks, telling Credence it benefited both, that he helped Credence so much, and the thanks that he asked for was so minor. It wasn’t sinful, he had said. It was something Credence wanted, he had said. He would never go farther, he had said. _That_ would be taking advantage, both had known.

Newt was waiting for Credence to talk. Waiting, as always, for Credence to overcome minor things that served as impossible blockades.

Credence was so tired.

_what else do you have to offer_

He slid down Newt’s chest, and, dream-like, unbuckled Newt’s belt, all too familiar with the schematics of their removal.

But it was different.

Newt’s arms were gone, his body gone. He had moved away, pushed himself several feet back, leaving Credence hunched over. Newt’s face was stark white, lips parted slightly, eyes wide with some unknown emotion.

Was it disgust?

It had to be, of course.

That was the thanks that Credence knew, but Mr. Graves had taught it, and Mr. Graves was bad, _bad,_ ** _bad_**.

That was the thanks that Credence knew, and he was tainted, irrevocably, disgustingly.

He stumbled upright, his hands shaking.

He ran.

_look what you’ve done now_

_you’ve messed everything up._

_we all knew this was coming_

_he hates what you are and what you became_

_look at what you’ve done_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is Hella Rushed but the majority of it was written around 1 am so forgive me if it's not that great. i was tryin to get a lot of shit down in this.  
> i rly wanted to write credence struggling with making a patronus and also i went a little further with the backstory than i intended so yeah!!  
> poor credence is one of my vent characters and i've been angry more often than not recently.


	12. resolution for a fraction of the problems (or, certain people should probably have longer conversations and be more willing to discuss things with their friends; if that had happened, no doubt some people would've ended the chapter far happier)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw for: discussion of sexual assault + suicidal thoughts.

He was up the ladder, top of the suitcase banging down behind him, and out the apartment door before he really understood what was happening.  
Where was he going to go? He didn’t know the streets of London. He didn’t know himself, or how to be someone other than himself.  
He just knew he had to be somewhere else, away from Newt, away from that expression of horror and the inevitable disgusted pity.  
_you’ve ruined everything and we knew this would happen did you really expect it to be different when he’s better than you could ever hope to dream to be_  
Of course he had. It was in his blood to destroy any happiness possible for him.  
He left the building, hurrying out into the building storm and down the road, ducking into any alley that would lead him further away from his- not his, never his, it was Newt’s. Ducking into any alley that would lead him further away from Newt’s home, cutting a winding, lonely path through the dimly lit pathways of the city.  
There weren’t many people out. He was grateful for that.  
The demon was clawing at his ribs. It wanted to be free. But Newt had given him more control over it. Newt had given him so much, and Credence had just wanted to give back, to return some fraction of what he owed him, but that was Mr. Graves’s trick of repayment, that was…Credence’s trick of repayment.  
He missed the simplicity of that situation, and he hated himself for longing to return to it. The assurance that Mr. Graves was in the right. The endless guilt that could only be slightly assuaged by doing things that the other enjoyed, even if he himself did not want to perform such tasks. The confusing mess of emotions.  
Only three things to sort through, or ignore, as Credence saw fit.  
His shoe caught on the cobblestones as he passed between two teetering complexes and he tripped, palms slamming onto the rain-slicked bricks. He crouched there for a few moments, watching his bangs, longer than ever, swaying in front of his face, slick with water.  
The sky rumbled. He had liked storms, as a child, when his mother would watch him play with the puddles and help him find the frogs rooted out by the wet weather. But storms in the Barebone household had meant being trapped inside with Mary Lou, or handing out limp pamphlets to the rare passerby as the torrent soaked you to the bone.  
He didn’t like storms, anymore.  
“Excuse me, young man. Are you alright?”  
It was an unfamiliar voice. Credence looked up to see an elderly man peering at him curiously from behind a pair of lopsided spectacles, one gnarly hand clamped around the head of a knotted cane.  
“I…”  
The man shuffled towards him. “You look absolutely wretched! Did you trip? Are your hands bleeding? Come inside, you must have some tea to warm you up.”  
Credence was reminded, suddenly, of the man and the cat that he had once seen, when he was younger. The gentle voice, the extended hand, a peaceful offering that said nothing more or less than I won’t hurt you, it’s okay, I’m a friend.  
Newt had reminded him of that fragment of time too, when they had first properly met. Apparently, it was a mark of all good people, that unrelenting and unassuming kindness. And Credence was not one of those good people. He struggled to his feet, knees muddied and hands scraped badly by the fall. “No, no, I’m al-alright. I’m sorry for, for disturbing you.”  
The man came a little closer, and Credence took several steps back, his eyes falling to his palms, staring at the watery beads of blood dotting the heavily scarred surface. He swallowed, and looked back up at the stranger. “Please don’t come c-closer, I am fine.”  
“Are you-“  
“I’m fine, please, just…”  
The old man’s helpfulness was not to be put off, it seemed. He continued to approach, so Credence continued to move away, this time faster, via running and going in a direction head-on.  
He left the alley behind, and the confused stranger with it.  
_you’re going to come apart all because a stranger was kind to you are you really that weak credence of course you are of course_  
“I’m n-not going to…I’m…”  
He hadn’t talked aloud to the voice in a very, very long time. He still didn’t quite understand what it was. The Obscurus, or some sort of psychosis, or simply a very overactive and disdainful conscience.  
Talking to it, no matter what it was, did not help.  
_you’re going to destroy yourself_  
“I-“  
_we both know it’ll happen eventually_  
They did.  
His legs hurt. He was sort of flatly curious as to how far he’d come from Newt’s house, if he was even still in the same district. There was the distinctive smell of fish, putrid and overwhelming, and the sound of water lapping at docks.  
He was by the River Thames, maybe. It was certainly big enough to be it.  
The bridge was an arch design, as cobbled together as the sidewalk, and he was careful to watch his step as he walked up the steady curve, fingertips trailing across the rough-hewn barrier.  
_do you really think jumping is the way to go you know you can’t die not with this thing in you not with yourself in you not with you being what is within you_  
“You don’t know that,” Credence muttered, fingers clenching around the rail. “Y-you…I…we don’t kn-know that.”  
_do you really believe that_  
He was at the height of the bridge, peering down at the murky, churning depths. Water poured down from above to join with water below. There was another rumble, accompanied by a crack of lightning that illuminated the skies.  
_jump if you don’t believe me and let yourself take over and wreak havoc on this city_  
“I wouldn’t d-do that, I can…I can control it n-now, you-“  
“You can control what?”  
Credence jerked around, fingernails catching painfully on the stone. Evelyn was standing there, a wide-brim hat perched atop her head, hands stuffed into the pockets of a bulky trench coat. She must have apparated at the exact moment the lightning struck, the noise disguised by the sound of God’s wrath.  
He stared at her. “What are you doing here?”  
“Newt called me. I’m not a major player in your story, I’m aware, but he and I are good friends.”  
The woman crossed over to him, leaning against the barrier and scrutinizing him with an unimpressed eye. “He didn’t exactly tell me what happened, but he’s panicking. Meltdown and everything. Already sent letters to those Americans he befriended on the trip he picked you up on, asking them to come and help him sort out the situation. They won’t get here for weeks, though, unless they’re approved for apparation hops. Which I doubt.”  
She tapped her fingernails against the rock wall and hummed. “He’s searching the other side of the city. Pity he didn’t take this half. I imagine he’d be in a better position to have a conversation with you.”  
“Searching the o-other side…? How long have-“  
“You’ve been gone for five hours, Credence. Don’t look so stunned. It’s always raining up here, the length of the storms can make you lose track of time. And who were you speaking to? A voice in your head? You seem like the kind of person who has that sort of thing going on.”  
She talked a lot. She also didn’t seem like she had any intention of stopping. “Whatever is going on in your head isn’t my business, though. It’s what’s going on outside of it. Do you want to tell me what happened with Newt? Did you do something to him?”  
_yes of course he did you stupid bitch our credence is a sinner and he tried to do sinful things all in the purpose of repaying something he could never repay even if your newt had accepted his filthy offering_  
“I d…I didn’t do anything to him.” It wasn’t a lie. Technically, Credence hadn’t ended up doing anything. “Or I…I didn’t mean to. I…”  
She considered him. “Did you make a move on him or something?”  
Credence blinked. “Wh-what?”  
Evelyn waited, then sighed. “Did you make a move on him? You know, flirt, make an innuendo, ask him out, something like that?” she let it sink in, and watched Credence’s expression change. “Alright, so, not that.”  
“I’m not a…I’m not…”  
_don’t lie credence of course she can tell what you are it’s obvious to everyone what’s wrong with you_  
“Just a guess. You don’t have to tell me whether you are a…” she paused, in obvious mockery, “or not. And clearly, that’s not the immediate issue here.”  
She looked down at the river below. Credence wondered when she had put the dots together about what he had been contemplating; if it had happened instantaneously, or if she had realized at some point during their conversation.  
“Don’t jump. Newt would hate that. If you have no other reason to live, at least live because you know you’d break him if you didn’t.”  
Credence bit his tongue to keep from responding, and Evelyn turned her gaze back to him. She took a little longer to start talking, initiating the type of pause that people make when they’re considering giving the other major, personal information. “He would hate it if you died, Credence, but he’ll never hate you. If whatever you did or said was unintentional, no matter how monumentally catastrophic it was, he won’t hate you. And no matter who or what you are, he won’t hate you, as long as what you are isn’t…like, a Grindelwald supporter or something.”  
“W-“  
“If you want proof, hey, I’m living evidence.”  
The sentence was rushed, and Credence watched as Evelyn’s shoulders tightened, almost imperceptibly. He did not respond, and she groaned and continued. “Jesus, it’s like talking to a brick wall. No curiosity. I’m sure Newt’s told you about our school days, yes? No? A little bit?”  
Credence still didn’t reply.  
“Come on, kid, give me something to work with.”  
He cleared his throat. “M-Mr. Newt told me that you and he were friends in school. He didn’t give me a lot of details.”  
“He mentioned McLaggen, among others, I’m sure. That was a nod, right? Okay. Do you want me to keep talking, or is the fact that I keep doing so driving you further up and over this wall?”  
Credence shook his head, hurriedly. “No, you can keep…it’s okay.”  
“Great, because I do actually have a point with this,” Evelyn pinched the bridge of her nose and squeezed her eyes shut, briefly. “I’m usually a little more eloquent. So, I wasn’t quite the…hard-boiled doll I am now. When I was in school, most people didn’t even like me. Not because of my personality, mind you, which would’ve been understandable, but solely because of the fact that they didn’t much care for Alberic the Slytherin faggot dressing up in girls’ clothes and making up his face when he had too sharp a jawline and too outward a business going on down below.”  
Her language got harsher the faster she spoke, and with that increase, Credence felt both more confused and more clarified.  
He remembered McLaggen mentioning someone named Alberic, back in the Leaky Cauldron. Credence hadn’t asked about the name; had actually forgotten it, to tell the truth. It had been spoken with such contempt.  
“So you’re…” Credence ventured, hesitantly.  
He knew the term. He had heard Mary Lou spit the slur at someone when a speakeasy had been raided. He hadn’t known what it meant until she had given him a curt explanation.  
“Men and women who go against what God intended for them and seek to transform themselves into that which he did not shape them to be. They are witches, in their own way, and they, too, will burn for their sins.”  
But if someone like Newt could exist as a witch and be the least sinful being Credence had ever met, than certainly Mary Lou had been wrong about the other.  
(He abided by her worldview, of course. His every action was sinful, for he was sinful. It was a hypocritical form of self-hatred, but it helped him nonetheless.)  
Evelyn curled her lip. “If you call me a tranny, not even Newt’ll be able to save you.”  
“N-no, I wasn’t going to, I promise,” he said quickly, shoulders hunching instinctively at the annoyance in her voice.  
She narrowed her eyes. “I’m a woman. They just didn’t see me as one. But Newt did. So if you are queer-“ she raised a hand placatingly, “-even if you aren’t, if you were, he would accept you. You don’t need to be afraid of what he’ll think of you.”  
“It wasn’t that. It wasn’t me b-being…I did something, and I…how could he…”  
“Use your words, Credence. I’ve been talking enough for you to be able to collect your thoughts.”  
He breathed in, out, in. “I’m not afraid of him not ac-accepting me.”  
“So I just told that story for nothing? I really misread the vibe here.”  
Maybe the conversation hadn’t been completely related, but it had quieted his mind. When she was talking, the voice wasn’t. “No, it…it helped. Thank you, ma’am.”  
Evelyn wiped the gathering rain off the brim of her hair and flicked it at the ground. “Don’t call me ma’am; that’s for older ladies, that is. Look. If you don’t want to go back to Newt’s place, right now, you can stay with me. Not for a long time, mind you. I don’t care much for guests. But you can stick around for the night. Sleep it off. Gather yourself together in the morning and go and talk to him.”  
Credence glanced down below at the waves again. She would stop him, if he tried it. And he wasn’t even sure if it would work. “If that’s alright w-with you, m-…Evelyn. If that’s not too much trouble.”  
She waved a hand. “No, no, it’s no trouble. But only for the night.”  
Her wand was in her fingers in an instant, and she practically sang the Patronus charm, an enormous silver wolf launching itself from her wand. She leaned in and whispered something to it. A moment later, it disappeared, leaving behind only a faint, wispy trail.  
_remember how you couldn’t do that credence remember remember how you can’t even find it within yourself to conjure it up don’t the waves look nice and welcoming credence don’t you just want to find relief in the cold black abyss credence don’t you want to swallow the ocean and stop feeling so empty don’t you don’t you don’t you_  
Evelyn’s fingers were tight around his upper arm, a firm, obnoxiously real grip that jerked him back out of his own head. “Don’t get that faraway look with me, Credence. I’ll knock some sense back into you if I need to. Talk to yourself if it helps. I don’t mind.”  
He minded, quite a lot, actually. Her fingernails dug into his arm, and they disappeared with a sickening, jerking snap.  
-  
Evelyn’s house was larger than Newt’s, and further towards the country, allowing her to escape from the seemingly endless seas of rickety complexes that filled the inner city. She let a queasy Credence sit down on her tattered sofa while she prepared a pot of tea, something fruity and citrusy that smelled a good deal different from Newt’s comfort-aimed brews. A blonde woman eyed Credence suspiciously and left a few minutes after his entrance, announcing that she intended to go into the garden and ‘gather some herbs for supper’.  
If there was anyone who fit the word ‘posh’, it was that blonde.  
“Drink this. It’ll pick you up a bit, warm your insides and drive away some of those nasty thoughts. Or maybe not that last bit. It’ll definitely give you some energy,” Evelyn said, stuffing a tankard full of tea into his hands. He almost dropped it, given the temperature, but managed to keep his hold on it, taking a tiny sip and wincing as his tongue was assaulted by the flavor. “Oh, don’t make such a face. It’s my grandmother’s recipe. I promise it’ll work.”  
She poured herself a glass of some unknown solution and downed it in one gulp, face contorting in disgust. “Now that’s the sort of thing worthy of that sort of reaction. You must be freezing, by the way. I’ve got some clothes that might fit you in the back. Pants, skirts, shirts, whatever. You want to come pick, or would you mind terribly if I selected the outfit?”  
He shook his head, and she vanished through one of the doors branching off the living room.  
It was a quaint little home; primarily wood, with a brick fireplace and threadbare curtains adorning the windows. It had the marks of a home that the owners had tried desperately to make comfortable, despite not having enough money to work with.  
The tea burned his tongue, but he let it rest underneath it, the heady flavor loosening some of the tension he was carrying in his shoulders.  
“She’s mentioned you, you know.”  
The blonde had reentered. She slipped off her raincoat and hung it on the coatrack by the door, sliding off her boots and shaking rainwater out of her hair. “I did not know she cared enough for you to let you stay the night at our place.”  
“I’m very sorry for intruding,” Credence quickly apologized. “She invited me here, and I didn’t w-want to-“  
The woman huffed lightly. “Do not worry, she explained a tad bit of the situation. I’m hearing that you’re refusing to give more details? That’s a shame. You’ll never be able to work through it if you don’t discuss it with your friends.”  
She shared Evelyn’s love of talking.  
“I’m Katherine, by the way. And I hear you’re Credence. That has something to do with faith, yes? Did you grow up in a religious household?’  
A door creaked open, and Evelyn bustled out, holding several pieces of clothing draped over her arm. “Katty, don’t talk his ears off. I’ve done enough of that already. Here you go, Credence. And don’t worry about Newt. He’s received my message. Says he’s worried, but he’s certain I’ll take good care of you for the night.”  
“Not too good care of him, I hope?” Katherine tittered, unbuttoning her coat.  
Evelyn rolled her eyes fondly and dropped the clothes into Credence’s lap. “Always so jealous, Katty. I don’t intend on taking that sort of care of him. Credence, you can borrow my room to get dressed. It’s that door. No, the one on the left, not the one on the far left. There you go.”  
The room was shabbier than the living room, clearly intended to be more comfortable than aesthetically pleasing. A scratched mirror was perched, lopsided, on the wall, and he examined his sopping wet appearance as he began to undress, pulling off his slacks and cringing as they clung to his legs.  
He slipped on the pants, watching as the silky fabric fluttered around his ankles, and stripped off his soaked shirt and sweater, carefully folding them and tugging on the fuzzy top he had been provided with.  
He preferred his (Newt’s) clothes, to be honest.  
“You can sleep on the couch,” Evelyn told him, after he left her room. “There’s soup on the stove if you get peckish. We’ll get you out of here when we wake up.”  
The lights went out.  
-  
_“Credence, you know I want to help you out of your situation. You just need to find the child, and I’ll be able to free you.”_  
_Credence’s fingertips were bleeding; his palms were pressed flat against the brick wall of the house, and there were dried tears on his cheeks. “Mr. Graves, you’ve, you’ve done so much for me. How can I…how can I even hope to make anything up to you? Ever?”_  
_“Just find me the child, Credence.”_  
_“Surely, surely, that can’t repay everything I owe you.”_  
_There was a moment of quiet consideration._  
_“There are ways in which you could, Credence.”_  
_Credence let go of the wall, turning around and swiping over his eyes, mouth tightening in hope. “Please, Mr. Graves, I’ll do anything.”_  
_Mr. Graves drew closer. Credence leaned into the touch before it came, pressing his cheek against the other man’s warm skin, drawing comfort from the all-too-gentle touch. The other hand found his hip, encircling it with the same softness as the palm on his cheek. “I know that you feel strongly about me, Credence.”_  
_“I-“_  
_“It is not a bad thing, no matter what your mother might tell you. And I feel strongly about you, as well. There is a means of repayment that can be…mutually beneficial.”_  
_“What-“_  
_The hand on his hip moved upwards, suddenly, to trace lightly over the slight curve of his waist. “Shh. I’ll walk you through it. I know you’ll enjoy it as much as I do. Now, down you go, Credence. Onto your knees.”_  
_Credence knelt, confused, uncomfortable, worried. Mr. Graves stroked his hair thoughtfully, running one hand’s fingers through the brutally short cut, the other’s fumbling with the clasp of his belt._  
_“It’s just a simple little thing. You’ll take to it like a moth to a flame.”_  
Credence awoke in a cold sweat, sky black outside, storm clouds still churning on the horizon.  
“Don’t remember that,” he whispered.  
Maybe he did long for the peacefulness of being Obliviated. Maybe he could’ve sacrificed Newt to find happiness in blissful ignorance.  
Most likely not.  
But there were many things he’d like to forget.  
_Newt floated above him, ever out of reach, a serene smile spread across his lips._  
_“Can’t you catch up, Credence?” he called down. “What’s holding you back?”_  
_Credence tried desperately to reach him, but his grasping hands fell inches short every time, the gap increasing with each grab._  
_There was a chain attached to his leg, dragging him down a little more with each movement upwards. No matter how far his struggling took him, it pulled him down again._  
_It was a chain, but it was also hands, fingers latching onto his shoes and tugging at his pant legs._  
_“Why did you leave me?” wailed Modesty. “Who I was is gone now, because of you. I can’t remember what I was. I can’t remember anything, Credence. I should be happy. I’m not happy.”_  
_Chastity’s nails bit into the skin of his ankles, drawing blood. “Why couldn’t you save us, Credence?” she whimpered. “We miss you. We don’t even know that we miss you. And we hate you. We always have.”_  
_Mr. Graves’s hands reached higher, fingers hooking in the folds of the fabric on Credence’s thighs. “We could’ve been together, Credence, if you had just controlled it. You could be with me now. We could be happy, and powerful, and fearless. And here you are, lost in your own self-hatred. Is this better than being free?”_  
_Mary Lou was next, but what came out was mostly intelligible, a jarring scream that wrenched at Credence’s bones. Words could be barely made out; “how dare you, how could you, what did you do, what have you done, what are you, you freak”. They were repeated over and over again, overlapping, into a crescendo of nightmarish screeching._  
_A hand met his, and he looked up._  
_“You can do it, אהוב שלי,” his mother whispered, her face a hazy, almost-forgotten memory. “You can do it. We believe in you.”_  
_“I can’t,” he whispered, blood leaking out from underneath his teeth._  
_She smiled, fondly, sadly. “You can. I promise you,” she replied. Her hands cupped his cheeks, and she bent down, pressing a kiss to his forehead._  
Credence’s eyes snapped open, and he touched the side of his face, arm dropping as he met nothing but the texture of his own skin.  
He wished he knew what her name was. What they had been known as, before his mind had replaced her title with ‘witch’, and his own with ‘Credence’. He didn’t know what he had been called before Mary Lou had found him.  
“Rise and shine, Credence,” Evelyn set a plate of eggs and toast on his chest and dropped a fork on his lap. “We leave in thirty minutes. Your clothes are dry, you can change after you eat.”  
The eggs were on the rubbery side, but were well-seasoned. The toast was slightly charred, but covered in butter. He ate without complaint.  
He wished he had complained, at least a little bit, because the food tasted horrible going up. Evelyn patted him roughly on the back and told him to quit being a baby (he should’ve been used to apparation at that point, according to her).  
To be fair, the vomit was caused only primarily by the magic travel. The other twenty or thirty percent was brought up by Credence’s paralyzing anxiety over seeing Newt after the…events of the night before.  
Evelyn disappeared the instant that Newt appeared at the door, with a quick explanation of ‘I really don’t care about dealing with you and him and all of your feelings’.  
Newt threw open the door and stared at Credence in a type of astonishment that was mixed with a far more worrying emotion.  
“I’m so glad she found you,” he said, at the same time as Credence burst out with an, “I’m so sorry for what I did.”  
Newt’s eyebrows dipped downwards, and he extended his arms carefully, slowly taking Credence’s hands in his own and guiding him through the doorway, to the well-worn couch, and sitting him down.  
The fire crackled, hoping to break the tension.  
“You’re upset,” Credence murmured.  
Newt’s fingers tapped repetitively against his knees. “Yes.”  
The fire crackled again, this time with an added pop, with the purpose of alleviating the mood.  
“I’m s-so sorry, Ne…Mr. Scamander, I didn’t, I didn’t mean to…I didn’t want to…”  
“You just ran off, Credence! You were gone for five, five, _five_ hours before Evelyn found you! And thank God she did, you…she said you were on a bridge. And, and I can’t even imagine what would’ve happened to you, or what I would’ve done, it’s-!”  
He ended on a fragment and slammed his hands down on the table, chest rising and falling rapidly, back curved forward enough to allow his forehead to almost rest upon the table.  
The fire snapped loudly in irritation that the mood had, in fact, just gotten heavier.  
Credence’s arms were knotted over his chest, and he swallowed, throat feeling dry. “I’m so sorry,” he repeated, vacantly.  
“Stop _apologizing_!” Newt was almost yelling. He sounded mad, and scared, and anguished, all at once. “You don’t need to be sorry all the time!”  
Credence’s shoulders hunched in, and he brought his knees upwards. “I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry,” he repeated, again.  
“ _Stop_!”  
“I’m sorry,” Credence hiccuped, burying his face in his hands, digging his fingernails into the corners of his eyes and breathing in shakily.  
Newt was panting, a blurry image barely visible from behind Credence’s scrunched eyes.  
He heard something, in Newt’s breath, and looked up.  
The other man was crying.  
Both of them were, actually.  
“Stop, Credence, please stop. You don’t need to apologize so much. You don’t need to be sorry all the time. You don’t need to be sorry just f-for _existing_ , Credence.”  
He was sobbing, his elbows resting on the table, hands knotted in his hair, completely doubled over. Credence stared at him in confusion  
Newt was breaking down even more than Credence.  
He drew closer. Newt tensed as Credence’s arms brushed against his shirt before relaxing into the embrace, and Credence rested his chin on Newt’s head, pulling him close against his chest.  
They both struggled to get their breath under control, and Credence spoke first. “I’m s-sorry for what I did be-before, Newt. I’m so sorry. I didn’t know…I don’t know what I was doing.”  
It was a reverse of the day before; Credence was now cradling Newt, providing comfort, providing kindness.  
“Credence, I’m not…how could I be mad at you for that? Did you think I would hate you for that? Is th-that why you ran?”  
Credence nodded, and Newt’s jaw clenched. “No, Credence, no, I’m not mad about that. I’m mad because…wh-where in the name of Merlin did you learn that, Credence? Who taught you that that was something you had to do?”  
_don’t tell him credence you know it’ll only upset him and besides you know mr graves was in the right you know he was doing you a kindness and that you begged for it because you wanted to make up your debt to him and you know you loved it_  
“I c-can’t-“  
“Credence, _who_.”  
It was the first time Newt had ever outright ordered him to say something. There was no polite question, no wheedling, no gentle prompting.  
Newt was angry.  
Credence’s tongue felt heavy in his mouth. “It was j-just something I picked…I just learned…”  
“You’re a terrible liar, Credence. Tell me. Now.”  
Credence closed his eyes.  
Breathe in.  
Breathe out.  
He opened his eyes.  
“It was M-Mr…Mr. Graves.”  
Silence.  
And then, ever so quietly, Newt swore, rising up and almost knocking Credence’s head back as he stood, staggering for a moment and rubbing his sleeve over his eyes. There was a look of pale, unbelieving horror on his face, not unlike the one he had worn when Credence had gone for his belt. “Your Mr. Graves did that?” he breathed.  
Credence squeezed his eyes shut again. Better than looking upon that face.  
“Why would he…?”  
“He was helping me. He was s-s- _saving_ me. I wanted to repay him. He told me that that was a w-way that was m-‘mutually beneficial’.”  
Newt cursed again, his hands back in his hair, freckles standing out sharply against his skin. “‘Mutually beneficial’?” he echoed, blank with shock. “‘Mutually beneficial’?” he continued, suddenly infuriated.  
“I asked him for a way to-“  
Newt cut him off, livid. “What did he make you do?”  
Credence stiffened. “He-“  
“Did he go further than…than what you were trying to do? To me?”  
_don’t tell him don’t tell him you stupid little slut_  
“Only…not often, he only did it a few times, Newt, _Newt_ -“  
Newt looked almost crazed by that point. Credence had never seen him like that before. “Then how many times did he have you do what you tried to do to me?”  
Credence shrank back. “I…I lost count, Newt, please, I promise-“  
“Did you want it?”  
Again, silence.  
Newt was panting again, gasping for air, eyes wild. “It’s fine if you wanted it, Credence, there’s nothing wrong with that, I promise, I just need to know if-“  
_you wanted it you wanted it TELL HIM YOU WANTED IT TELL HIM TELL HIM TELL HIM TELL HIM TELL HIM THAT_ “I didn’t.”  
Newt’s arms fell to his sides, hair a mess. “‘Mutually beneficial’,” he repeated, quietly. “I’m going to kill him, how could he, how could he, and they, they don’t even _know_ , that fucking _bastard_ I’m going to _kill_ him.”  
“I didn’t t-tell him I didn’t, he-“  
“No, Credence, _no_. You aren’t doing that. You aren’t going to try to excuse his actions. Mr. Graves. And he, he was just _using_ you-“ Credence winced, “-to get the Obscurus, you didn’t even need to repay him for anything, how could he-“  
“Please, Newt-“  
Newt dropped to his knees in front of Credence, catching his wrists and looking up at him. “I’m sorry, Credence. I know. I know I’m getting worked up, I know this isn’t even…I know this is your battle to fight. But you didn’t deserve that, do you understand? And you don’t have to fight it alone, anymore, okay? You can talk to me. You can tell me anything, I don’t care _what_ it is. And I’m sorry. I’m sorry for overstepping my bounds, for flirting, for…I should’ve been more considerate of your feelings. I should’ve thought that something like this could’ve happened.”  
Credence didn’t really think it was possible for Newt to be _more_ considerate than he already was, nor did he think that Newt could’ve predicted this being the situation Credence had-  
Flirting.  
Had Newt said the word _flirting_?  
“Listen, Credence, I’m here for you. Okay? Please don’t run off again. I’m not going to be scared of you, ever, or hate you. And do you know how strong you are? You dealt with all of this, you had all these memories, you ran out into London and almost…well… _almost_ , and you never once turned into your Obscurus. Do you know how strong you have to be to do that?”  
Had Newt been flirting with him?  
Newt stood up and let Credence’s wrists go. “Pretty damn strong. You’re incredibly strong, Credence, and if you ever need something, I’m here for you.”  
Credence watched his wrists. The moment Newt’s touch left him, he felt his mind begin to spiral back into the reality of the circumstances, the reality of what he had been through, Mr. Graves pulling d-  
Focus. Focus on something else.  
_Flirting_.  
“Can we just…go take care of the animals?”  
_Can it just be like before?_  
_Before you knew all of this, before-_  
Focus.  
_Back when you were. Flirting._  
Newt smiled.  
It was a sad, tense, angry smile beneath layers of genuine happiness.  
“Of course, Credence. Let’s go see how everyone’s doing.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yo fuck's with the longass title and longass chapter. also the formatting got fucked up?? idk what that's about. lmk if it's too hard to read.  
> anyway!! this is a lot of stuff packed into one chapter but i'm trying to get as much stuff out as quickly as possible! my friend issues are ~resolved~ (as in, they are no longer my friends bc they dislike my personality apparently) so i should have less tension and i should be able to get chapters up more regularly?? i hope.  
> the quality is low in this chapter and the character emotions may not be really realistic but whatever this is literally fanfiction so who rly cares.  
> also evelyn how nice of you to take a more major role for a single chapter. thank u for transcending your original role to be a convenient plot device.  
> love ya'll! thanks for reading kids.


	13. Author's Note - Quick Explanation

Hey ya'll! I'm just giving an update on why there haven't been any actual, well, updates.

I've been having a difficult time recently, with certain ex-friends and sleeping and blah, blah, blah. I also had a fever for a full week, so that's fun.

Point is, I have been distracted, and lacking the mental management, whoch is why I have not updated. The fic is not abandoned or on hiatus! I promise.

I am organized now. I intend on having a short chapter up by tomorrow evening, and will attempt to give another 'interludium' update at some point in the week.

Thank you all for hanging around, if you have! I hope no one is too angry. Again, I will have a chapter up by tomotrow night!

I love ya'll!

\- Star


	14. anything is possible with a catalyst (or, queenie gets things done)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow!!! holy shit!!!!!!! apparently this chapter didn't post a goddamn week ago when it should've!!!!!!!!! i'm dying scoob!!!!!!!!!  
> anyway. i'm so sorry. jesus fucking christ. what the fuck.

Things didn’t go back to normal.

Despite his previous assurances of how strong Credence was, Newt treated Credence like glass, all touches restrained, hesitant, feather-light and calculated. There was no casual, friendly spontaneity to them; they were filled with a sorrowful affection and fear, like Newt was afraid that, if he held Credence too tightly, the man would shatter into a thousand little pieces.

Credence couldn’t find the words with which to communicate that the absence of familiarity was what worsened his fragility. Every time he made to establish contact, he would see that _look_ in Newt’s eyes. A look that encompassed every scrap of revolting pity that had ever been leveled at Credence on the streets in America, the downward tilt of lips as people avoided or sought out his gaze while he handed out fliers in the rain.

He hated it. And some part of him, deep down and dark, hated Newt for that look.

He grew brittler, and Newt responded by retreating even more.

Evelyn, despite her abrasiveness, _because_ of her abrasiveness, served as a rock that Credence could grasp onto as the water tugged at him, threatening to pull him down. She didn’t act differently, didn’t treat him better or worse than before. But she was rarely around, preoccupied with her own life.

Weeks passed. The rain stayed, a constant downpour that Credence would watch from the window for hours at a time while Newt avoided him, clearly believing absence to be the best option. Neither of them left the building often, preferring to keep to the suitcase and the bedrooms, lost in a stagnant daze of uncertainty.

There were three sharp knocks on the door, on a particularly dreary Tuesday. Credence unfolded his legs from underneath him and stiffly moved towards the door, wand at the ready, and opened it.

Tina stood there, eyebrows furrowed in concern as always, eyes worried. Her lips parted slightly as she stared at him, and then a smile brightened her face. “Credence! Oh, it’s so good to see you! It’s been forever!”

She reached out towards him before pausing and quickly withdrawing, her smile tensing up. Credence gritted his teeth in response, but took a step back to accept her anxiety. “It’s good to see you, too, Ms. Goldstein,” he replied.

“Have you gotten taller?”

He had not.

“Your hair looks…” she hesitated again. “Longer?”

It was.

“Tina, is that him?” called another voice from behind her. “Oh, I can’t wait to see him!”

Newt appeared behind Credence, blinking in amazed curiosity at Tina. “Tina! Hello! What are you doing here?”

She froze. “You, asked my sister and I to come, yes? A few weeks back? Because of the, er, situation?”

The silence was thick, and then Newt buried his face in his hands. “Oh my goodness, I completely forgot. I am so sorry, Tina, I haven’t prepared anything! Come in, come in, good lord, I can’t believe myself…”

He shook his head, beckoning her inside. Credence shifted out of the way to let Tina pass, and she entered, lugging her suitcase behind her and wrinkling her nose at the apartment. “Sorry for being rude, Newt, but this place needs airing out. Have you opened a window at all recently?”

Newt made to close the door, but a carefully manicured hand was flung out, stopping it as another woman squeezed into the room.

She was shorter than Tina, with a curly blonde bob and an artfully made-up face. Her smile was bright, and it didn’t hide the ever-present worry apparent on the faces of both her sister and Newt. “Hello, Newt! Oh, it’s such a treat to see you again, darling. You weren’t expecting us? Oh, my, did you really forget?”

“Queenie-“

“Ah, yes, sorry, I know you don’t like that much. And you! Oh, you must be Credence, darling! Come here, let me l-“

She stopped in her tracks, her pupils contracting, focused on Credence, and Credence alone. He was never comfortable being the center of attention, and the way she was looking at him, like for a moment, he was the absolute pinnacle of all her thoughts, scared him.

Tina swore and dropped her suitcase. Newt’s expression went from confused to terrified. Tears bubbled at the corners of Queenie’s vacant eyes and slipped down her slackened cheeks.

It was all happening so fast. The next second, Tina had wound her arm back and slapped Queenie in the face, hard, sending her sister staggering backwards, one hand shooting out to cling onto the wall.

Credence stood very, very still, afraid to move for fear of triggering another overly-quick sequence of events.

Queenie was still, too, for a few seconds, before she straightened. There were black streaks under her eyes from whatever she had used on them, and she vigorously rubbed at them with the cuff of her salmon coat. “I’m sorry, I’m ever so sorry. Had a few drinks on the boat, must still be half-seas over. I always get a little emotional when I’m drunk,” she apologized.

She was lying. Credence remained frozen.

The woman wiped at her eyes again and forced another smile onto her face. “As I was saying, you must be Credence. And look at you! You’re handsomer than I expected, you know. Tina here didn’t mention anything about your stunning good looks, you know.”

She made to approach them, and stumbled, hand returning to the wall. “I must be a little more smashed than I thought. Tina, would you be a dear and help me sit down?”

Tina and Newt glanced at Queenie, then Credence, and then exchanged a look, before Tina went to do as Queenie asked.

Credence didn’t like that exchange.

-

The women settled in, taking the out-of-suitcase bedroom, while Newt arranged an in-suitcase accommodation for Credence. Queenie remained almost faint, but only ever around Credence. The glimpses he caught of her interacting with the others showed him a surprisingly upbeat and active person that he was not allowed to meet (apparently).

It took two days before she actually talked to him, one on one.

“Credence.”

He was feeding the Mooncalves, coaxing the young ones out from underneath the rocks. He stiffened at the voice and turned around.

She smiled, nervously. “I’m sorry for actin’ so weird around you, before. No, I promise, it’s not because I don’t like you. And yes, I know I look a little outta place here, but I’m actually real good with plants and animals and the like.”

Credence didn’t respond. “Yes, it is like I’m reading your mind,” she continued, chuckling lightly. “I’m a Legilimens. You don’t know what that is…? Right, of course not, I’m sorry. I can…well, I can sort of…see into your head.”

“You-“

“I know, you don’t want anyone to know what you’re thinkin’, and I understand that, but Credence, the _reason_ I was so odd around you was because you’re so…you’re so open. You’re like a wound that just doesn’t close. And it all hit me, all of your thoughts and feelings, and…no, no, Credence, it’s not your fault, I promise. I need to learn to control myself a little better, I know. I’ve always found it a little too easy to go rootin’ around in people’s heads. Gotta ask for permission first, right?”

She sat down, perching on a jutting rock and running her long fingernails over the bald head of one of the bolder Mooncalves. “I know you don’t like people knowin’ everything about you. And I don’t know everything. But I know a lot. And Credence, you need to tell Newt how you feel.”

What.

“What?”

Queenie’s fingernails were making a curious scraping noise. The Mooncalf seemed to enjoy it, purring in a droning, echoing manner. “Wasn’t what you were expectin’ me to bring up? I get it. But you’ll talk about the rest when you need to. This thing with Newt…if you don’t push yourself, you’re never going to address it.”

Credence sprinkled the floated morsels in the air, and watched as the creatures scrambled over each other to get at the food. “What…exactly d-do you mean, ‘tell Newt how you…how I feel’?”

She closed her eyes, languidly, like a cat. “You’ve been uncomfortable with how he’s been since the…night that he sent us that letter, right? You miss how you were before? When he was…ooh, he said ‘flirting’? Just outright said it?”

Credence blushed furiously, and she moved on past it. “You need to tell him, though. You can’t sustain a good relationship- a good _friendship_ , if you won’t communicate with each other. He thinks that treating you like this is good for you. He can’t tell that you don’t like it.”

“Does he-“

“-miss you like you miss him? Of course he does, Credence. You’re both hopelessly in… _hopeless_ when it comes to figuring out what you want. And it doesn’t take a mind reader to figure that out, sweetheart.”

She slipped off the rock and approached him. He appreciated the lack of caution, the lack of fear that he was going to crack open like an egg, everything spilling out like so much broken yolk. “I can talk to you with him, if you’d like.”

He nodded, and took her offered hand.

They left the suitcase, and talked to Newt.

Or, rather, Credence forgot himself and embraced Newt, burying his head under Newt’s chin and pressing himself close to Newt’s stiffened torso, squeezing his eyes shut so as to better absorb the flutter of that startled heart as Queenie explained that, no, Credence wasn’t going to fragment at a moment’s notice, and yes, Newt had been a bit silly to assume that someone like Credence would ever appreciate a lack of touch.

It took only a minute for Newt to reciprocate and nuzzle his cheek against Credence’s, murmuring apologies into his ear while Credence gripped the back of his shirt in pent-up desperation.

Out of the corner of his eye, Credence could swear he saw Queenie nudge Tina with her elbow and mutter something in her ear, both giggling about whatever it was.

And honestly, at that moment, with Newt so close against him, Credence didn’t really care.

-

They went back to practicing the Patronus charm. Credence still couldn’t form one, but he kept himself as positive as possible.

Tina had apparently built up quite a massive amount of vacation days, and Queenie’s superiors didn’t particularly care whether or not she was actually there, so they continued to board with Newt and Credence. They got along famously with Evelyn and several of Newt’s other associates, helping with providing potions and mending injuries and the usual asylum for those who may or may not have been on the run.

The winter holidays arrived, and snow came with them. The Goldsteins personal days became actual, official vacation days, which led to Tina being a little too smug about her time management, and Queenie leaving the house for a full day before returning with several boxes of liquor and triple that amount of Judeo-Christian decorations, sprigs of mistletoe and bundles of garlands side by side with an incredibly elaborate menorah and a good two pounds of top-of-the-line chocolate gelt. She found a startling amount of joy in covering the rooms both in and out of the suitcase in holiday spirit, and even more joy in breaking out the holiday spirits; most days found Queenie with a red glow to her cheeks and a drink somewhere in the vicinity.

It was all fine.

Credence left long scratches on the table as his hands curled into fists, watching Tina and Newt bump into one another beneath one of the many mistletoes scattered around the place, all of which _Credence_ had managed to successfully avoid. Queenie looked up and winced, inexplicably, as she watched the pair of them blush very vivid shades of red.

They kissed.

Credence’s fingernails pierced his palms.

The kiss continued.

He set down his wand so he wouldn’t snap it and turned to focus on arranging an already-in-place garland affixed to the side of his chair.

The pair broke apart and stared at each other for a few seconds, breathless.

Queenie laughed uncomfortably as she pried Credence’s fingers off the mangled decoration.

Tina and Newt remained looking at each other for a minute longer, and then disappeared into the Goldsteins’ shared bedroom.

Credence stood up abruptly and went to the bathroom, leaving Queenie to attempt to mend the damage he had done to the various things around him.

He wasn’t really sure what he was feeling. Anger, maybe. Disappointment, possibly. Fear, probably.

It was because Tina had rescued him, and Newt and he were such good friends. He didn’t want to lose either of them to a relationship. That was it, of course. He just didn’t want to be left out.

It was fine. They were adults. He had no right to control their lives.

It was fine.

It was fine.

He left the bathroom. Tina and Newt emerged from the bedroom an hour later. Queenie was the only one to greet them, Credence having taken refuge in the suitcase.

One of the Kneazle kittens latched onto his ankles as he fled- no, he didn’t flee, he simply…left. And went somewhere else. In a hurry.

“Let go, Anita,” he muttered, twitching his foot to try and get the creature to release him. She whined loudly and sank her claws more into his sock, the tips scraping harshly along the tender skin. He jerked away in response, and she released him hurriedly, ears flattening.

Breathe in, breathe out. “I’m sorry,” he amended, crouching down. “I’m so sorry, Anita, I shouldn’t have done that, I’m s-sorry.”

He cried a lot. He really did. He wondered if there was a different path his life could’ve taken that would’ve had him end up as someone with a far stronger grip on his emotions. But there he was, sobbing over the cat, because of feelings that he could not and absolutely did _not_ want to sort through.

He had no right to be jealous, yet there he was.

_you could run you know you can always leave_

Credence wasn’t going to run from his problems. Not again. He was, however, going to avoid them for as long as possible before one of the three people in Newt’s apartment found him.

To his surprise, Tina was the one to come to him. He would have put his money on Queenie, if he were a gambler.

“Credence?” the woman called. He could see her from his position near the Nundu habitat, perched in a tree, out of range of the poisonous fumes arising from the sleeping cat-thing’s leathery pelt. She had a hand resting on the Mooncalf rocks, and her hand was raised to shield her eyes from the false sun.

He closed his eyes and prepared himself before slowly sliding down the trunk of the tree, carefully and quietly easing away from the Nundu and making his way towards Tina, who smiled, doe-eyes crinkling at the corners as she hurried towards him.

“Hey, Credence, where’ve you been? It’s been hours. And from the notes Newt showed me, you really shouldn’t be anywhere near the Nundu unless it trusts you.”

 _It does, kind of_ , he returned, internally. Externally, he just avoided her eyes. She waited for a response, and then twisted her hands together. “I’m glad you’re happy here, Credence.”

That was not what he had expected her to say.

“I’m happy that you’re here, away from that horrible lady, and that you’re making your life here. And I’m not here to ruin it. I’m not jealous that Newt was the one to rescue you, really, and I’m not going to take him away from you, and he’s not going to take me away. We’re not going to leave you behind. The kiss, it, it wasn’t…when we were in America, both of us, I think, thought…or felt…”

_Oh._

He didn’t know Tina well. He didn’t know that she was perceptive.

“We both felt something for the other. Or we both _thought_ we felt something. But, when we kissed, it…it didn’t mean anything. We talked, after that. Talked through everything.”

There was a rustle, and Newt called out both of their names. He appeared around a mess of bushes, twigs caught in his hair inexplicably. He was next to them in a few seconds, looking even more nervous than Tina had looked. “Tina, did you-“

“I told him,” she assured him. “It’s okay. I think he understands.”

Newt turned towards Credence, and opened his mouth, but the latter got there first. “You don’t need to a-apologize for kissing. It’s not my business what goes on between you two. It…I was being stupid. Overreacting. I was just…”

 _Afraid_.

They both smiled, understandingly. Credence went with them, willingly, when they left to go back upstairs.

It felt like there was something missing.

-

As it turned out, alcohol was terrible, and Credence was definitely not a fan. It was Christmas Eve, and he was done after one sip, while Queenie laughed and downed the rest of his glass and Tina and Newt ignored the whole thing, the former in favor of saying the Hanukkah prayers and lighting the candles, the latter in favor of wrapping the small mountain of presents sitting under the oversized tree in the corner.

(A ‘culture mishmash December-long party’, as Queenie had described it).

“You’re not a drinker, you’re not a drinker, I should’ve known,” Queenie snickered. “It’s so nice to drink outside of a speakeasy.”

“Queenie, you’re setting a bad example for Credence,” Tina reprimanded, fumbling the matches as one of the candles fell off the menorah.

Queenie shrugged and poured another glass for herself, winking at Credence as she tipped it back.

Both Tina and Newt were occupied.

“Queenie?” Credence asked, softly. She put down her glass and stared at him hazily. “I’m…when they kissed, and I was upset, Tina explained why I was. B-but…there was something…I feel that she didn’t hit on something. That there was another part of it that was…that wasn’t talked about. I think. I don’t know what it was.”

He flinched as Queenie reached towards his face, most likely to pat his cheeks maternally, and she let her hand fall to instead clap on his knee. “Oh, Credence. Credence, you’re not just upset because you think you’ll lose them. You don’t want to lose _him_. As an _option_.”

“What do you mean?”

“Credence, you’ve been living with him for months upon months. You’ve been taking care of animals, taking care of each other, talking and touching and just being _with_ one another. He’s over the moon for you. And I don’t need to be a legilimens to tell that you’re just as into him as he is into you,” Queenie hiccuped, face flushed and hand tightening around his kneecap. “I wasn’t meaning to tell you all that, when I first picked up on it, but come on. You two’ve been dancing around each other long before Teenie and I showed up, and the tension is unbearable.”

Credence’s gaze flicked, involuntarily, to Newt.

“You weren’t just miserable that he was treating you differently after that business with the bridge- sorry for bringing that up-, you were sad ‘cause he was withdrawing from you, because you missed him, and not just in a friendly way.”

That couldn’t be right.

“And look, Credence, darling, your past can’t hold you back. We both known you’re not healed, far from it, but you can begin to move on more. Everything you’ve been through…if you weren’t ready, I’d understand, but you are. You’re not worried about that…that man, if it’ll be like that. You know it won’t. And you know Newt doesn’t look down on you, and won’t treat you badly, and will respect you. You know that.”

He did know that.

_that’s not true you filthy little disgusting son of a whore you want-_

Queenie’s fingernails dug into his knee, and he jerked his attention back to her. Her forehead was creased in concern. “Credence,” she asked. “Credence, what was that voice?”

He was glad she was drunk. “It…it was n-nothing. It was just a passing…”

“It sounded…weird,” she muttered, but was clearly too out of it to make sense of the situation. “Anyway. If you don’t do something about it, I’m gonna make him do it. Why don’t we go over there? If you…if you start thinking bad thoughts, than we can stop, you can stop right away, but you should _try_. And he’s under the mistletoe- which, by the way, is an outstanding Christmas tradition that I wish was more secular so us Jews could enjoy it more- right now. 

And sure enough, he was. Credence was very sure that that mistletoe had not been there a moment ago, and he noted, with some fondness, that that made his hatred of magic flare up again.

She let go of his knee and shoved him off his chair. He was able to catch himself, staggering back to his feet before he actually ended up hitting the floor. “Go get him.”

Credence didn’t move. With a long-suffering sigh, the witch stood up and pushed his frozen body along towards Newt, who didn’t seem to notice them before they were right next to him. He looked at them, smiled, and straightened up. “Hey, there, you two. What’s going on?”

Tina finished lighting the candles and turned to watch the event unfold.

Queenie tapped Credence’s shoulder. “Oh, would you look at that. We were just comin’ over to see about the presents, you know, but there seems to be mistletoe here!”

She stepped out of the way and pointed upward.

Both Newt and Credence followed her gesture with their eyes, and Newt’s lips parted, a blush coming to his freckled cheeks. “It’s Christmas tradition, I suppose,” he murmured.

Wait.

Was Newt actually going to do it.

Queenie’s voice rang out in the back of Credence’s head, singing _he’s over the moon for you_ in an affectionately mocking manner.

 _Flirting_. He had said that, a while back. Had said that was what he had been doing.

They were very close, and that was all Credence could think about. “I suppose it is,” he managed.

“Are you okay with this?” Newt sounded faraway, distant in a dreamy sort of way.

“I-“ Credence started, and cut himself off. Ever so slowly, he reached toward’s Newt, hands lightly touching the other man’s sides in an offer to initiate a hug. “I am.”

He was surprising himself every day, with how much he had changed.

Newt was so very, very close.

Warm, calloused hands cupped the sides of Credence’s jaw, and Newt pressed his lips against Credence’s.

Credence had nothing that he could compare the feeling to, except maybe drinking hot chocolate. It was the same warmth, the same heightening elation and comfortable coziness. His arms tightened around Newt’s waist and he drew himself close, their mouths still connected.

It was an innocent kiss, almost chaste. There was no hunger, no desperation, no urgency. It was slow, and sweet, and for the first time, Credence’s mind was completely, totally blank.

Queenie and Tina had left, no longer hovering in the corners of Credence’s eyes.

Newt broke away, his face split into a smile so wide it looked painful.

“Was it…” Credence swallowed, his throat dry. “Was it good?” he hazarded, unsure of what exactly to say after such a situation. He felt breathless and shaky, but not in the usual way that spelled unhappiness.

Laughter bubbled up in Newt’s chest, and Credence could feel it, close as he was. “The best, Credence,” he whispered, knocking their foreheads lightly together. “It was the best.”

They stayed like that for a while. Neither of them really cared enough to actively count the seconds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oy vey, this chapter was hella rushed and a lot happened but i wanted to write something happy, for a change.  
> anyway. here we are. here it is. i love ya'll. sorry for any grammatical/spelling errors, i did NOT proofread this. i cannot stress how little i proofread it. there was no beta reading done. this is a pure, raw, uncut first draft.


	15. a night of asshole-ish nightmares and nightmarish assholes

_“Credence!”_

_Newt reached towards him. His fingers brushed against Credence’s, dirt caked underneath bluntly jagged fingernails. “Credence, listen, you need to grab on, okay?”_

_Credence was in the cocoon again, blood staining the leather fibers where the hybrid had clawed him. He was fighting against the casing, trying desperately to tear free. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. There were hands around his throat, the muddled memory of every hand that had ever been laid on him, and he was swallowing ribbons of darkness, more disembodied appendages feeding it past his lips, cupping his cheeks soothingly as he gagged on the solid shadows._

_“Credence, you have to get out! You have to get free!” Newt’s voice was panicky, desperate. Through the gaps in the bindings, Credence could make out blurred figures grabbing onto Newt, seizing chunks of his hair._

_Credence didn’t understand._

_Newt was disappearing. Something was wrapped around his mouth, and his eyes were wild._

_Credence didn’t understand, but he fought harder, anyway, kicking his way out, scrambling through the air to grasp for something, anything, to keep the other man from vanishing._

_Their hands met and interlocked. Credence could feel the Graves-Lou hybrid sinking its claws into his ankles, could see hazy silhouettes threatening to drag Newt further into the abyss._

_He held on._

He woke up.

It was dark, in the room. His chest was tight, painful, and breathless.

Newt was curled up next to him, clutching Credence’s hand with his own close to his chest. His breathing sounded as though it had been erratic moments before, but was beginning to calm. Credence could feel the rapid fire beats of the other man’s heart slow to a normal pace, and he bit his lip in tired worry. What had Newt been dreaming about? Had their nightmares somehow collided?

He had never needed to save Newt before.

He didn’t l-

Three sharp knocks came from outside the room. Credence tensed, drawing closer to Newt and reaching for his wand, left on the bed table beside them.

He considered waking Newt.

The knocks came again, and Credence gently freed himself from Newt and the bedsheets, sliding off the bed and padding softly out of the room, wand clutched in his fist.

The sun hadn’t risen yet, and no one else was awake.

More knocks, harsher this time, more agitated.

Credence went to the door. Newt had managed to create a very unique locking system, utilizing experimental spells and various creature-based charms, but it was relatively simple to undo if you know what was involved.

The door creaked open, stopping as the last, regular old door latch stayed true, and Credence saw the tall, bulky figure of McLaggen lit from behind by the dim lantern in the hallway.

_Goddamnit_.

“What do you want?”

McLaggen stepped forward, and Credence raised his wand, aiming it directly at the man’s chest. He paused, and raised his hands placatingly. “Relax, kid,” he growled. “I have business to do with Sc…Newt. An appointment. Just bring him out, alright? He knows I’m coming.”

“Don’t call him Newt,” Credence snapped in return. He ignored that his wand was shaking, a little. It was fine. He doubted he would ever be the steadiest spell caster.

_destroy him destroy him_

_Shut up._

“Fine. I have business with _Mr. Scamander_. Could you go get him? Please?”

“It’s not even dawn. Y-you…you can’t possibly have an appointment.”

McLaggen rolled his eyes and edged a little bit more towards the door. “I didn’t come here to be questioned by Scamander’s little _watchdog_. Do us a favor and fetch him, alright? This doesn’t have to take all night.”

There were three people, behind him. A woman, short and thin as a rake, stood close to the wall, curls falling loosely to frame her face. Credence couldn’t see her face, but her eyes glittered, black as the hollows of a dungeon, from beneath her bangs.

The other two were men. One was taller than even McLaggen, but scrawnier, almost as slim as the woman. His hair was light brown and scruffy, his face pallid and smattered in freckles. The other was further back, eyes fixated on Credence’s face. Scars decorated his skin, and blood stained the front of his shirt.

McLaggen followed Credence’s eyes towards his associates. “Oh, don’t worry about them. They’re just here to help with the…deal I’m proposing.”

“We’re not making any deals. Go away.”

McLaggen looked like it was taking a great deal of patience to interact with Credence. “I’ll put it in the simplest possible terms, alright? I have an offer. Scamander and I have an arrangement. Go get him.”

Credence narrowed his eyes. “It’s not even dawn. Go away. I’m not waking him up.”

“You didn’t tell me we’d have to deal with a fairy, McLaggen. You know they can’t be reasoned with,” muttered the tall man, his lips twisting confrontationally. McLaggen squeezed his eyes shut and groaned.

“You’re terrible at diplomacy, Abberdale. No, no, don’t close the door, C…uh…Clarence, isn’t it? Listen. Just get Scamander. I don’t want this to have to get ugly. And you don’t want that either, right, Clarence?”

“That’s not his name, you know.”

The voice came from beyond the quartet, and McLaggen glanced over his shoulder, clearly surprised but attempting to hide it.

Evelyn, like an annoyed and annoying guardian angel, sauntered out into the light, arms folded over her chest and eyes half-lidded in disappointment. “Credence, dear, are these asses bothering you?”

Her voice was loud, and carrying, and Credence heard shifting from the rooms in the apartment. He sighed, knowing that she had no doubt managed to wake up at least one other person in the almost-house.

McLaggen rubbed at his eye, took in a breath, and turned around. Credence couldn’t see his face, but could imagine whatever smarmy look had been pulled on. “Sorry, ma’am, did we wake you? We’re just trying to get in to our friend’s apartment, we had a business arrangement set up, but it seems one of his strays doesn’t recognize us. Could you talk some sense into him, darling? We really don’t want this to get violent, but he doesn’t seem entirely…stable.”

Evelyn’s eyebrow arched upwards. “And you don’t…recognize me.”

“Are you another of Newt’s associates? I’m sorry, I don’t think we’ve met. I’d remember a face like yours.”

Evelyn looked like it had just been announced that she’d be given everything she’d ever wanted in the world. There was an expression of such exquisite delight on her face that Credence had to repress his own startled laughter. “I, uh…I guess we haven’t met, after all,” her voice contained the barest notes of glee. “I’m sorry, I must have taken you for someone else. ‘scuse me, loves.”

She edged by the silent trio, and McLaggen stepped out of the way obligingly. Evelyn smiled at him and faced Credence, positioned so the others couldn’t see her face.

“ _Holy shit,_ ” she mouthed.

Credence stared at her, and she composed herself. “Credence, these people are Newt’s friends. You trust me, don’t you? I promise, they won’t do any harm.”

He believed her. He had no doubt that whatever harm was done would not be enacted on any of the habitants of the apartment. He slowly undid the latch, letting the door swing open and allowing the four outsiders, and Evelyn, to enter.

They did, smug as could be, just as Newt slipped out of their room, his own wand raised.

“M-“ he started.

Evelyn quickly went to his side, shushing him. “Newt, sweetheart, these are your friends. You had an appointment set up with them, remember? Such nice lads.”

“You should keep your little b…your _friend_ under control, Newt. He almost didn’t let us in. If your lovely neighbor here hadn’t gotten through his skull, we would’ve never gotten to go through with the arrangement we set up!”

Through the corner of his eye, Credence could see the short woman’s wand aimed at him, just visible to Newt beneath the folds of her robes. The tall man also had his wand out, pointed almost imperceptibly at the small of Evelyn’s back. Credence saw Newt’s eyes trail over the scenario, and fixate curiously on Credence, who shrugged back.

“Now, Newt,” McLaggen began. “We have an employer who’s looking to acquire a certain rare creature, and of course, the first person we thought of was you. No one knows more about creatures than our Newt!”

“No one,” agreed the short woman. Her voice was monotone and low, and her face didn’t seem responsive in the slightest, lips barely moving as she spoke.

“No one,” repeated McLaggen. “It’s not a big deal, I’m sure you have one on hand. You see, our employer’s interested in obtaining this fascinating little beast known as an Obscurus. I’m told it’s a dangerous thing, but once controlled, it can be quite useful.”

Credence felt as though his lungs had closed. He dug his fingernails into his palms and tried to remember how to breathe.

Newt blinked. “No,” he said, coldly. “I’m afraid I don’t have one of those. Obscurials are exceedingly rare. And they never survive.”

“Now, Newt, that can’t be the whole truth, right? And we have a deal for you. You hand over whatever Obscurial-Obscurus-whatever you have, and you can study our little werewolf friend here,” McLaggen gestured at the bloody man by the door, who didn’t respond, continuing to stare emptily at Credence. “It’s a fair bargain, to be certain.”

“I have no interest in that deal, I’m afraid, and even if I were, I wouldn’t be able to help you. I promise, I have no Obscurial on or with me.”

McLaggen’s lips tightened. “I have information-“

“Your information is _wrong_ , McLaggen.”

Credence opened his mouth, but McLaggen spoke first, drawing himself up to his full height and glaring down at Newt. “My information is _never_ wrong, Scamander. You take the deal, or you pay the pri-”

“You know,” interrupted Evelyn, “I had always pegged you as an asshole, but never as the sort to dabble in dark wizardry. When did that happen? When did you release the tenuous grip on decency that you were holding and dive into dickishness so wholeheartedly?”

The room was quiet, and McLaggen stared at her. “I’m sorry?”

Credence watched as the door on the opposite wall opened slightly, Queenie and Tina’s eyes just visible, narrowed in consideration.

Evelyn pursed her lips, looking McLaggen up and down. “I’m glad you don’t recognize me, thought. Tells me I’ve done a nice job with my image. And you even find me attractive! Oh, oh, McLaggen, what would you consider yourself if you _did_ recognize me?”

Tina emerged first, her wand out, and Queenie followed after, her hair done up in a net. “I think that you should leave, now,” Tina ordered. Her tone was not one that Credence had ever thought about her having; chilly and commanding.

“Yes, absolutely. Five against four…and we’re a little more mad, I dare say. I don’t like your odds,” mused Queenie, aiming her wand at the werewolf, who just sort of continued to stand there in absent disregard.

McLaggen started to speak, and Newt raised his hand to press his wand gently against the soft skin of the other man’s throat. “Would you like to think about whatever you’re about to say?”

After a second, the short woman looked around the room, and tsked. “Well, McLaggen, I’m going to go. This hasn’t been particularly fruitful. Good luck with…well, whatever the consequences are for failure. I wouldn’t know much about that, after all.”

“Prince-” McLaggen began.

“No, no, I’m not going to die at the hands of one of these warmongering jackasses,” she interjected. It was remarkable how flat a human’s face could remain when delivering such biting lines.

She nodded at Credence and slipped out the door. The tall man watched her go, dragged his free hand down his face, and followed suit, grabbing the shoulder of the werewolf and pulling him out after him.

That left just McLaggen. His face was pale, suddenly, although it didn’t seem to be just in reference to the situation.

The woman had mentioned consequences. McLaggen was afraid of them.

“Out. Go,” Credence sidestepped to the left, hovering beside Newt and pointing at the door.

“I know you know where an Obscurial is, Scamander.”

“And I know I don’t know where one would be. And you might as well stop being an idiot. Your _employer_ is in jail.”

McLaggen retreated to the door. His face was tight. “Not for long,” he replied.

He didn’t sound happy. He sounded angry. At both Newt, and his future.

The door banged shut behind him, and Evelyn burst out laughing, throwing her head back and covering her eyes with her palm. “Oh my _god_. I can’t believe McLaggen is one of Grindelwald’s fanatics! I can’t believe he hit on me! Holy shit!”

“Evelyn!” Newt reprimanded. “This really isn’t the time-“

“I know, I know, it’s a serious situation, but still, _McLaggen_. And hello, hello, you two must be Queenie and Tina. Tina and Queenie? There we go. I’m Evelyn. I have to crash on the couch tonight, by the way, Newt. Cops are hovering around my place, for some reason. Can’t go back there, yet.”

Tina frowned. “Newt, are you harboring criminals?”

“In a way. Night, girls,” Evelyn curtsied and immediately collapsed onto the couch, burying her face in the pillow and drawing the ever-ready blanket around her figure.

Queenie turned her gaze to Newt in search of answers. He yawned, and waved her back to her room. “I’ll explain in the morning. Credence, could you lock up the door? We should all get back to bed. We can think about this tomorrow. Or later today. It’s early morning, after all.”

Credence did as requested, and returned to bed, crawling in next to Newt and nuzzling against him in exhausted affection.

They had kissed a few days before.

It was hard to feel any sort of negativity when that had happened so recently.

“Newt, are you okay?”

Newt blinked. “Yes? Why would you ask?”

“You were having a nightmare, before they came.”

The clock ticked, and Newt shifted. “I don’t remember what it was about, Credence. I don’t even remember having a nightmare.”

He was lying.

They’d deal with it in the morning.

For that moment, they slept.


	16. a series of unfortunate events (copyright lemony snicket)

Credence awoke the next morning to discover Newt, Tina, and Queenie clustered in the living room, talking in low voices. Evelyn was gone, as usual, but the couch was not neatened up; the blanket was on the floor, the pillows askew, as though it had been abandoned in a great hurry.

There was a newspaper in their hands, dripping wet from the dismal weather outside.

“What’s going on?” Credence ventured, taking several steps towards them and reaching out to touch Newt’s shoulder.

Newt almost dropped the paper, hurriedly turning around, hands clenching around the soggy pages. “Ah! Credence! I thought you, uh, I thought you were asleep.”

“I was. Is everything okay?”

Tina looked even more worried than usual, brow furrowed and teeth grinding. “I…everything’s…”

She paused, and Queenie took the chance to speak. “Newt, you haven’t told him yet?”

“I was waiting for…for the right time.”

“Newt, he needs to know, especially with all of this happening right now.”

“I understand, Queenie, he-”

Credence swallowed. “You haven’t t-told me…what?”

The tension was thick, the air uneasy. Newt looked frazzled, his hair sticking up all over the place, fingers steadily and anxiously massaging the newspaper. Credence could just make out the edge of an image from underneath Newt’s hands, a flash of blond hair moving with the typical unpredictably of magical portraits.

“No, you’re right, Queenie. Credence, can you come with me? We need to talk about a…we need to talk about something.”

Newt tucked the newspaper into his jacket and took Credence gently by the wrist, palm cold and clammy from the rain. The Goldsteins stepped aside, letting them pass to the suitcase, Newt following Credence inside and closing the top carefully behind him.

They didn’t speak until they were in one of the habitats still in construction, both because Newt appeared to be delaying the inevitable and Credence didn’t have anything to say, outside of asking questions that would likely get him nowhere.

In fact, they didn’t speak until they were both sitting, Newt taking more care than usual to ensure that Credence was comfortable. He let his hand rest on Credence’s knee, still and reassuring, as he took the paper out and unfolded it onto his lap. The blond hair reappeared, attached to a man staring lazily at the camera for a mugshot, a smirk half-present on his thin lips.

“Credence, the last thing I want to do is talk to about Graves, but there’s…I should’ve told you about this. I didn’t want you to know. I’ll admit that. I didn’t think it would be… _helpful_ for you to know.”

_he’s been keeping things from you he’s lying just like graves we knew we couldn’t trust him but here you went and fell in love you sick pathetic little child_

Newt shifted from right to left, glancing occasionally at the man in the paper. “This is someone named Gellert Grindelwald. He was…he’s a very dangerous person, Credence. A mass-murderer. He’s been terrorizing Eastern Europe for quite some time. We don’t exactly know much about him, but he’s a bad person. Very bad. And he keeps slipping through people’s fingertips, getting away again and again and…again.”

_What does this have to do with Graves?_

“Back before we left America, back in that station, we caught him. Grindelwald. MACUSA…or, er, the magical government of America, they locked him up. It was a surprise to everyone, that he was there. And it seemed like it was going well, for…a long time. But as the newspaper says, he got out, late last night. They’re not sure how. Maybe a double agent in their administration helped him. There were a lot of casualties, and he’s free.”

Those people that had come, the night before. They had been searching for an Obscurial (for Credence) for that man, Grindelwald. They had wanted Credence to be Grindelwald’s weapon. That’s who they had meant by their ‘employer’.

“The thing is, Credence, we caught…we didn’t realize we had caught Grindelwald, when we did. He was someone else. I think he was using Polyjuice Potion, or some sort of amalgamation of transfiguration spells, but he didn’t look like he does in this paper.”

_oh_

_Oh._

Newt’s hand was moving in soft circles on Credence’s kneecap, but his wand was by his thigh and the muscles of his arm were visibly tensed. “They’re not sure for how long Grindelwald was masquerading as Graves. But they know that it was for a while. A good, long while. I don’t think that…I’m not sure if…”

“I never met the real Mr. Graves,” Credence murmured. He felt empty. “It was always that man. Grindelwald.”

“He…he thinks you’re dead, Credence, he’s not going to-”

“They know you have an Obscurus. They got a tip. Remember? He…he knows,” Credence continued. His insides were twisting. He felt sick, and vacant, and so, so cold. “And they failed to find me. So he might try himself.”

Graves- no, no, _Grindelwald_. He was never Graves. It was always the blond man, eyes laughing and mocking, lacking any acknowledgment of his actions, lying for every second of his time with Credence. None of it had ever been genuine. Not a second. Fake aid, fake comfort, fake love, fake man.

He doubted the cold-eyed man in the newspaper had ever felt even a shred of affection for Credence.

Newt seemed so very far away. Credence was dissolving into nothingness.

The world was just shapes. Credence needed to be shapeless, out of touch with reality, with emotion, with everything. He could take himself apart and never be whole. Broken things didn’t need to hurt. Shattered things could exist in so many shreds that they could never connect any of their thoughts back together. They would never have to dwell on anything again.

The darkness opened up his skin and devoured him.

_you are nothingness you are pointless you are the bringer of destruction you can tear apart this you will still never find meaning even when you bring everything to the brink of the end isn’t that nice credence isn’t it nice you will never be anything more than you are because why be anything when you can be something more_

he floated in a void of swirling darkness. flashes of light came from the outside.

newt had set up a barrier. who was newt? who was anyone. who was he. nothing more than a boy in a cloud. he sat above it all and stared down at his work dispassionately.

was this what god felt like, the boy wondered.

he was too young to be god, of course. he was a child again, or had always been a child, unable to comprehend the world as an adult should. he had had mothers and sisters and friends and lovers. all was gone, gone away. he was left as a boy with nothing who wanted nothing.

it was a sort of peace, even with the agony of his skin being rent over and over again by the monster inside.

his form was trapped, he noted. the man below his cloud, blue jacket on the ground, wand raised and voice pleading, had set up a barrier to keep him limited. it didn’t matter, the boy continued. nothing mattered but keeping his cloud far, far away from everything.

the boy couldn’t hear the voice in his head, when he was on his cloud. the boy couldn’t feel as people felt, when he was on his cloud. he could stay away.

he wondered why he hadn’t given up to the monster before. he had felt some silly responsibility, certainly, some need to keep others safe and not disappoint the man with the blue jacket. how funny that need was. how unnecessary.

on his cloud, he didn’t think about grindelwald and graves and mary lou barebone (god rest her soul). he didn’t think about alleyways and apologies and payment and wet fliers and scraped knees and whipped hands and clawed backs. all that was gone. he was alone and free to watch, devoid of the weight of feeling and remembering.

credence, the man below was calling. credence. ‘faith, belief that something is true’. faith had gotten him nowhere. believing had only let him fall pray to lies. ha. pray. the boy thought he used to do that.

it was nice, the cloud. it gave the boy the detachment he needed to look at himself. how stupid it had been, his fear and rage and pain. he was an emotional child, a being of feeling. but the monster had taken those distractions with it. it fed off them, the strength of them, used them to fuel its hurt.

it was not as strong as it had once been, the boy noticed. he blamed the wand, the affection, the use of magic. he was freer now than he had been months ago (a year, was it? he couldn’t think straight). there was less caged anger. he regretted it. perhaps if he had kept himself so angry and fearful, the monster could’ve had more to draw from. it could’ve broken the barrier, taken its passion out of the suitcase to destroy the city and all those within.

maybe then they’d both feel better. maybe then they could fly ever upwards until they escaped into the sky and left the earth behind.

credence, the man below was begging.

the begging was annoying. it was painful. the boy in the cloud wanted not to feel that pain.

the monster headed for the man, and the boy in the cloud saw the man enveloped.

he remembered the candidate, with the word freak on his lips and the smarmy, camera-ready smile. he remembered his mother standing before his sister, her eyes burning with hate.

he remembered their faces, torn and burnt.

the monster left the man. he was on the ground next to his blue jacket, his wand forgotten. there were tears.

he was afraid. the boy in the cloud could see the fear. he hated that he could see it, hated the man with the blue jacket.

credence, the man below was whimpering.

the boy in the cloud knew that the cloud was bad. he knew that he had to return down below, leave his perch.

_no_ said the monster, sinking its teeth into him.

the man below reached for the boy. his hands were empty. was he getting through? could he tell?

the monster dived for the man again. the boy held back.

the boy felt arms around him, cutting through the shadows to find something solid. there was so little left that was truly tangible, so little left that could be touched.

credence, newt mumbled, pressing his forehead against the boy’s. the chaos swirled around them, but they were both left unharmed.

i’m sorry, credence whispered. i’m sorry i’m so weak.

you’re stronger than you know, newt replied.

no, credence said. no i’m not.

that’s okay then, newt continued. you don’t need to be strong.

he held him closer. credence wasn’t sure how.

he supposed maybe even the monster didn’t want to hurt newt.

it subsided. everything did.

They sat on the ground, Newt holding Credence close to his chest, rocking them both back and forth and humming soothingly under his breath. His arms and face were scratched viciously, and Credence could see blood dripping down to stain his shirt. But he was alive. And Credence was together again, with the monster caged behind his ribs.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated. “I don’t know why I’m like this.”

Quiet.

“There’s a voice,” Credence continued. “There’s a voice in my head and I don’t know where it comes from.”

Hand in his hair, hand on his back. Soft, soft, soft. “It wasn’t there when I was young. The monster came when I was young. The voice came later. When I was older. When I was more scared.”

Fingernails against his scalp, running through his locks, grown out and tickling his jaw. Soft, soft, soft. Credence felt strangely lucid. More lucid than he had felt in years. The monster was silent. The release had been necessary, the build-up worse than the outcome. “I thought it was the monster talking. I hoped it was the monster talking. I don’t think it is.”

Chest pressed close to him, steady, heart beating against Credence’s. Soft, soft, soft. “I think it’s me. I think it’s always been me. It was never the monster talking, pressing. I’ve been doing this to myself. Tormenting myself. Talking to myself. Bringing myself to the brink. It’s always been me, hasn’t it.”

Quiet.

“What was the girl in Sudan like?”

The hands stilled their continuous motion, before beginning again. “She was a lot like you, Credence. Sweet and quiet and strong. Unique. Wonderful. She had been through so much, was _going_ through so much, but she tried to be so bright despite it. The world was dark for her. She didn’t have innocence, couldn’t summon up child-like wonder anymore, but she was so _positive_.”

“How did you meet her?”

Newt hummed, low in his chest. “She was locked in her house. I talked to her through these makeshift bars in her window. Her parents wouldn’t even let her leave, not after they found out she was magic. She tried so _hard_ to make them happy, but they…wouldn’t accept her. Not anything she did. She told me stories, though, little imaginative tales she made up to keep herself busy and content, so she wouldn’t hurt anyone. She knew that she was an Obscurial. She just wanted to stay herself for as long as possible.”

His movements were more agitated, and Credence moved closer. “What happened to her?”

“I could see that she was getting worse. It was harder for her to keep the Obscurus inside. So I, ah, broke her out. I brought her to my suitcase, and I tried to extract the Obscurus. I tried to help her. But the extraction didn’t…didn’t work. When I separated it, she…”

He stilled. His voice sounded stilted. “When I separated it, it took everything with it. It took her mind and emotions and destroyed them. She was still alive when it left, but eventually her body forgot to function. I tried to keep her alive. I did. But I couldn’t. Her mind and memories were gone, even if her physical form was untouched. She didn’t have enough to keep herself around. And if I hadn’t extracted it, it would’ve killed her anyway. If I had saved her earlier…maybe she could’ve stayed around. Maybe she could’ve been like you. A survivor.”

Credence traced a constellation between Newt’s freckles. “Is that what’s going to happen to me? Am I going to lose all of me?”

The hold around him was suddenly tighter, almost choking. “No,” Newt growled. “I’m not going to let that happen. Do you hear me? I’m going to save you. _You’re_ going to save you. You’ve already gotten this far. And I know it’s not gone, but the magic, you using it, I can tell…its grip on you isn’t like it once was. Am I making sense? Do you understand?”

“I do.”

The embrace loosened, but did not disappear. “Credence,” Newt said. “What does the voice say?”

Credence stiffened, and Newt started to rock them again. “It’s okay,” he hurriedly amended. “You don’t have to tell me.”

“No. I do,” Credence quickly replied. “I…it…it talks to me. It tells me I’m…”

_don’t be pathetic you don’t need to tell him he’s just going to pity you you disgusting creature then again who wouldn’t do you really think he looks at you as his equal_

“It tells me I’m pathetic. And worthless. And that I’ll give into it…to the mon…to the Obscurus soon. Any day. That I’m going to destroy everything I love and that I’ll never be worthy of being loved and I’ll never be your equal or anyone else’s and that I deserve everything I’ve been given that-”

Lips against his, soft, soft, soft. Newt tasted like vanilla. Credence had no doubt that he tasted like morning breath. The kiss was most likely unpleasant on the other’s end.

They broke apart, and Credence felt calmer. “I think it’s mostly me. The voice. I think the Obscurus affects it, makes it m-more…real, more aggressive. But I…it’s me. It’s my own…negativity.”

“I’m not going to say it’s okay, Credence. It clearly isn’t. I just…if it talks to you…or, if you, uh…should I talk about the voice as…’it’ or ‘you’ or…”

“It. ‘It’ is better.”

“If it talks to you, if it tells you things that are…’negative’, then I want you to tell me, okay, Credence? It’s lying. You’re wonderful. Really, really fantastic.”

Credence tucked his head under Newt’s chin, and closed his eyes.

Newt was fantastic. Bleeding, wonderful, gentle, powerful Newt.

-

Tina and Queenie left later that day, with Tina informing them that she was needed back at the ‘Magical Congress of the United States’. Queenie finished bandaging Newt up, gave Credence a hug and a kiss on the cheek, and bustled out after her sister.

“I hope they’ll be okay,” Credence said to Newt, as the latter showed him how to make a potato dish of which Credence had already forgotten the name.

He was still exhausted. The letting-loose of his Obscurus (because it _was_ his, wasn’t it. There were others like him. This one was his) had tired him out, both physically and emotionally. His skin felt stretched and burnt, even though no marks littered his skin.

Credence had read the newspaper. Grindelwald had escaped, killing several high-level American witches and wizards, before escaping. The writers of the paper estimated that he would come back to Europe within the week.

He hated to admit it, but he was worried more about Newt and himself than Tina and Queenie. Grindelwald would leave America behind, and come to find an Obscurus that his followers had heard was attached to Newt.

It wouldn’t take him long.

Credence was scared. So was Newt. It was obvious.

They ate, with little talk. They slept, curled up close as possible, clutching each other for dear life.

The next day passed. And the next. They lived with dry mouths and nervous checks out the window.

The fourth day came, and Katherine showed up at their door. She looked shaky and uncertain, dark bags hanging beneath her eyes, cheeks flushed with tears.

She didn’t speak for a long time. Newt made her a cup of tea and sat next to her, waiting for her to say something, his expression both worried and hopeful. Credence avoided them, watching from a distance, his heart in his throat.

“Newt,” she finally said. “Newt.”

He looked at her, fingernails in his palms. Credence paused in his pacing. “Katherine?” Newt asked. “Why are you here, Katherine?”

She stared at him, absently, as tears dazzled on her lashes.

Newt’s shoulders tightened, visibly. “Katherine? Please. Please don’t say it.”

“She’s gone, Newt.”

Heart in his throat, stomach in a knot.

Newt shook his head, once, twice. “Who’s gone, Katherine? What are you saying? What’s going on?”

“They came and took her. I don’t know who they were. I don’t know where she is.”

“Stop talking, Katherine, stop-”

Katherine didn’t stop. She was talking, now, and she wasn’t going to stop. “They came, and they broke down the door, they grabbed her and they beat her, they snapped her wand in half, bashed her against the wall over and over and oh _god_ Newt there was _so much blood_ and then they dragged her away and I tried, oh god, I tried, Newt, I tried to stop them, but they just…they didn’t stop…”

He was standing. He was backing away. Credence reached for him, but Newt wasn’t paying attention. “Who took her? Who’s her? What are you saying, Katherine? Stop talking, Katherine.”

Katherine was crying. “Grindelwald’s followers. They said you were hiding an Obs…an Obscurus or something from them, and they said that they could do what they want because their ‘employer’ is coming back and he won’t let them get arrested, and they took her as incentive, and oh god, Newt, oh god, I think she’s dead, I think they killed her to let us all know what happens when you cross them, Newt, she’s gone, she’s gone, she’s _gone_!”

Newt was in tears, too. “ _Who’s gone_?”

The woman took to her feet, and she was angry, she was so, so angry. “ _Evelyn_ , Newt! They took Evelyn, they beat Evelyn, they _killed Evelyn_!”

The vases on the windows exploded, spraying water and flowers and ceramic in every direction. Newt was on his knees, arms clutching his head, his hands grabbing fistfuls of hair. Katherine had her palms pressed to her eyes, and she was hiccuping, tears coursing down her hollowed cheeks, before she suddenly moved, racing to the door and slamming it behind her.

Newt was crying.

Credence sat next to him, leaning carefully against Newt and attempting to imitate the rocking motion Newt had used in the suitcase, and before.

Evelyn was gone. Or dead.

Credence remembered the bridge, and tried to feel nothing. Tried to be the boy on the cloud, no matter how unhealthy that was.

It didn’t work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tbh i have no excuse as to why this is so late besides me having writer's block and being hella lazy. to all that have stuck around...here you are. we're nearing the end.


	17. interludium iv

**_pars unum - memoriam temporum praeteritorum_ **

 

_the boy’s heart quaked in his chest, rattling against his lungs, his breath coming out shaky and uncertain._

_the mirror was shattered. the pieces were smashed on the floor, a dust of glittering, jagged fragments that crunched painfully beneath his bare feet._

_Ma would be mad. Ma would be so angry._

_his back still stung from the last time she had been angry._

_but that girl. that girl had made the boy worried. she had followed him whenever he handed out fliers, tried to initiate conversation, every day, for weeks._

_and then she had kissed him._

_and he hadn’t responded positively, had shoved her away in fear and confusion._

_she had gotten mad then, gotten terrifyingly mad. she was only a little older than him, a year, and they were still so young, but her words were the harsh condemnations of an adult. freak, stupid, queer, she had called him._

_he didn’t really know what queer meant. he only knew that Ma said people who were such were damned to eternal suffering in hell._

_he didn’t want to go to hell. he was scared. and the mirror had broken apart._

_his mother was a wicked woman who had got what she deserved. his mother had been a witch, and passed her devil’s blood along to him. one day, Ma said, she might be able to finally beat it out of him._

_but it hadn’t happened yet._

_the boy crouched on the floor, knees pressed into the glass, blood staining the ground around him. “no,” he told himself. “no, no, no. you’re not allowed. you’re not allowed. you’re wrong and disgusting and you will not do this. you will not be this.”_

_he pushed at the swell in his throat, in his stomach, in his heart. he pushed it down, down, out of his blood and into his chest, to be caged behind his ribs._

_he would not be like his mother. he would be what Ma wanted him to be. if he got rid of the nastiness, cast it out or buried it so deep it could never find its way to the surface again, maybe she wouldn’t need to beat him. maybe she would love him._

_he buried his palms in the shards of glass, and focused on the biting and the stinging of the knife-sharp ridges. “go away go away go away go away,” he chanted._

_Ma would be angry about the mirror. he would be angrier at himself. he would always be angrier at himself._

_he was a nauseating little creature, but he would not be evil._

_he would go to heaven, if he could, if God would welcome him with open arms._

_maybe one day, he’d be an angel._

 

**_pars duo - ad praesens_ **

 

_credence tentatively took a seat next to the shaking figure. newt was rocking back and forth, his hands pressed firmly against his ears, eyes staring in vacant horror at the floorboards in front of him._

_katherine was gone._

_it was just the two of them._

_he knew newt didn’t like to be touched when something like this happened. so he sat beside him, in comforting silence, humming a low, singsong buzz, to coax newt back from where he had gone._

_eventually, the rocking stopped. eventually, newt stilled, and drew close to credence, slowly tilting to the side and resting his head on credence’s lap. his tears continued to flow, and credence continued to hum, massaging the top of newt’s head the way he knew the other man liked._

_credence prayed. he prayed to God that evelyn would find peace in heaven, that she would finally know tranquility._

_he didn’t know if she had believed in any religion. given how mary lou had considered women like her, it was doubtful she had felt very welcomed by christianity._

_he hoped wherever she was was beautiful. he hoped that it would be kind to her, and grant her happiness. he hoped it was green and growing and fruitful, tall trees swaying in a gentle breeze, every whim and fancy fulfilled._

_“newt,” he finally began. “newt, i’m sorry.”_

_newt didn’t respond._

_“i know it doesn’t help. i-i can’t even imagine what it feels like for you.”_

_silence._

_“i don’t know what you believe but, if, if, if she’s really…gone, then i think she’s somewhere good. somewhere nice and safe and warm. that’s what i believe. if she’s gone.”_

_newt’s shoulders shuddered._

_“if she’s gone, if it’s real, she’s in heaven. and she’s happy.”_

_because someone like her (someone like newt, maybe someday even someone like credence himself) could never end up in hell._


	18. poor decision making and politically incorrect villains

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw for: child death, use of the f-slur, general homophobia/aphobia.

They didn’t talk about it.

It didn’t get better.

Newt had been in love with Evelyn once. It was obvious, now that Credence paid more attention. He wasn’t still, of course. But as Credence watched Newt sit on the couch, back hunched over a moving, smiling photograph of the woman, fingers lightly touching the edges of the frame in a way both tender and furiously mournful, he wondered how he hadn’t figured it out before.

_he’ll never love you he’ll leave you for a woman in a heartbeat that’s what people like him do to people like you after all you’ll never be good enough for someone who has all the options in the world_

It was funny, how that little self-deprecating voice could so often echo Mary Lou’s teachings even while discussing subjects she would have avoided like the plague.

He hated himself for thinking that, but it was a break from the never-ending stream of self-hatred, in the form of _if you had just turned yourself in just given yourself up to grindelwald to graves let him love you and touch you and take you then she would still be alive you filthy coward you spineless little germ_. He welcomed something new to hate himself for.

They didn’t talk about it.

They didn’t talk about much of anything. Mostly, they sat by each other in understanding silence, with little touches verging into embraces tighter than anything Credence had ever felt, in the dark of the night, when exhaustion tore down the wall keeping back the flood of emotions.

Nightmares came and went. One would wake the other up from a shaking fit, pressing kisses to cheeks and whispering soft comfort against feverish skin.

The creatures in the suitcase seemed to sense the cloud surrounding the pair of men. The animals were more subdued, quieter, less likely to cause trouble or seek out mischief. Even the bowtruckles eschewed their usual antics, keeping to their branches and out of the way. The kneazles actively avoided them, and Credence felt like a stranger again, coming into the magical world for the first time, only to find it cold and unwelcoming. Not like before.

Nothing was like it was before, he corrected, fingers slipping in between Newt’s as they made their way through the feeding routine.

“Credence,” Newt said one morning, “I’m going out. I’ll be back later. I’m meeting up with someone to get more asphodel, coltsfoot, and birdsfoot trefoil. I should only be a few hours. I promise.”

It felt like a lie. Credence let him go.

He came back, of course, hours later. The next day, he went out again, earlier, his eyes haunted and tired. And then again the third day.

Newt had so many books. Credence passed the time in the library, skimming enormous volumes with titles about animals and exploration, plants and potions. Some were school textbooks, falling apart with age. Others were journals, holding up even worse than the books, full of the hastily-written accounts of a teenaged Newt.

One page described Newt first seeing Evelyn. All use of the word ‘boy’, or male pronouns, had been crossed viciously out, with corrections scrawled above the mistakes. It was sweet.

Others were a little more painful.

_I don’t understand why the others hate me so much. I don’t understand what I’m doing wrong. Mother said I should be myself but it seems like everyone hates who that is and I don’t know what I’m supposed to do about it._

_The other boys in Hufflepuff avoid me. The girls don’t like me at all. I’m lonely. I’m tired. I want to be friends with them but they’re so loud and they don’t like it when I do things that they find weird._

_Mother says I should never be ashamed of myself but I’m not normal I don’t think and I don’t think I should be proud of being strange. I just wish I could be better. And different. But normal-different, not like I am now. Different as in different from what I am now._

There were frequent mentions of the ‘few people who would tolerate’ him. Unfamiliar names like _Leta_ and _Filius_ , alongside the two that Credence did recognize ( _Evelyn_ and _Nadir_ ). Newt fawned over them, constantly placing them on pedestals and describing their every action as though they had been heaven-sent to complete that task.

It was uncomfortably similar to Credence’s thought process when it came to Graves. It was most likely healthier, but there was the note of desperation and starvation for human contact.

They were surprisingly alike, the pair of them.

_Evelyn had sex. She seemed really happy and gleeful about it. Apparently it was this Ravenclaw girl, and they got a little tipsy in Hogsmeade, and then things just sort of…happened._

_I’m happy for her, but I don’t really get it. I told her that, and she said that was funny, because when she was my age she was thinking about it a lot. She says I might be a late bloomer. That’s probably not the case, though. I like people. I like girls, and maybe boys, maybe, but not…like that._

_It’s not normal to feel this way, apparently, though. One of the Slytherin boys overheard and said that I was a weirdo. I’m scared this will make me even more of an oddity in people’s eyes. I wasn’t aware that not feeling like that is weird. I should have known._

Glimpses into the past. Credence wondered if it was invasive. Somehow, he knew Newt most likely wouldn’t mind.

_Leta needed me to go get some materials for her potion idea. She said she needed ‘birdsfoot trefoil’, for revenge, ‘coltsfoot’ for justice, and-_

Newt had gone to get more birdsfoot trefoil and coltsfoot.

Credence dropped the book.

God, he was an idiot. They were both absolute fools.

He grabbed his coat and raced out of the house, locking the door behind him.

It wasn’t raining, but it was foggy. A thick mist lay over the city, damp and obscuring (what a strange word that now felt like). Credence shivered beneath the coat on his shoulders, clutching it tighter around him and breathing in the familiar smell to comfort himself.

_you’re going to find him dead he’s dead he’s dead you know it you’re going to find his corpse bleeding and bruised and twisted in anguish he’s been gone too long you idiot you idiot you idiot you let him go out three times and he’s not back it’s been hours he’s gone he’s gone_

The voice sounded panicked. Credence was panicked. The Obscurus churned in his throat.

He went to the Leaky Cauldron first. The bartender (Boot, his name was) took one look at him and almost dropped his glass. “You’re Scamander’s assistant, y-”

Credence just cut through the query. “Have you seen Newt? Has he come in here at all, lately?”

Boot composed himself and tapped the counter. “He came in two days ago, I think, maybe three days. Asked if I had seen McLaggen, Ms. Prince, or that dick Abberdale around. Seems like everyone’s looking for someone, nowadays.”

“Do you know where they are? Did you tell him if you had?”

“I don’t know where Ms. Prince is. Mysterious, that one. But Abberdale and McLaggen…” Boot paused, and clicked his tongue with consideration. “Come to the back, Credence. Follow me.”

He led Credence to a fireplace, and offered him a handful of powder and an address. “They typically orbit that area. I’m not sure what they’re up to. I only know where they are.”

Credence stepped into the fireplace, and followed Boot’s instructions. Before he threw down the handful, Boot let out a soft breath of air. “I hope you find him before someone else finds you, Credence.”

Credence didn’t question what that meant.

He dropped the powder, and let the fire envelop him and drag him through the Floo network.

-

The house he was spit out into was musty and old, wallpaper peeling off the plaster, the scent of decay lying heavy in the air. It was raining outside, heavily, different from the fog Credence had left behind. He had never been too bothered about getting wet, thankfully.

He had to find Newt.

The street was completely empty. The lamps were off, the houses crumbling.

It was eerily quiet.

Credence knew better than to say something. He knew his voice would be too loud in the silence.

The ground was covered in a thick layer of dust that puffed up with each slow footstep. He edged out of the door, trying to avoid making the ancient hinges creak.

Outside was far worse.

The houses were destroyed. It was not the natural decay of the years, but the mark of violent anger and explosive hatred. Bricks were shattered into shards of faded red that lay scattered on the ground. Long-dry smears of black-brown stained patches of the crumbling cobblestone.

A small piece of blue fabric was caught on the thorns of a brittle bush. Credence swallowed, and began to walk down the road in that direction.

The scenery did not improve.

Something crunched underneath his shoe after five minutes, and he jumped, quickly backing up and staring down the tiny human skull, the top half crushed from his foot.

The rest of its skeleton was attached. Its small hands were clutched around a broken porcelain doll.

Credence felt sick.

He followed the trail by a mass grave, a pit with a pile of corpses in it, enough to form a mound that extended above ground level.

Credence prayed for every skull he saw, prayed their souls had found their way to heaven and weren’t still trapped behind the black sockets that watched him in empty contempt and contemplation.

_Newt, please be okay. Please don’t be dead. Please don’t be dead._

He didn’t want Newt to be another nameless set of bones in a heap of the other lost ones.

The path got narrower, the trees encroaching on the man-made structures, swallowing them back into nature. The stones were split apart by roots and sprouting grass, weeds brushing against Credence’s legs.

It was almost beautiful, in the saddest way possible. It was a town lost to time, abandoned by God to the mercy of humans, and abandoned by humans when there was nothing and no one left to hurt.

A branch on a nearby tree was broken; sap oozed freshly from the splintered core.

_Please be okay._

Credence started to run. He held his wand tightly in his sweaty palm, fingers shaking with fear.

Newt’s coat was on the ground. Newt rarely took off his coat during the day. There were weights sewn into the lining, making it soothing, a comfort object. It helped still the world, Newt had once said. Helped ground him.

Credence worried what would happen if Newt were no longer tethered to the earth.

Shouting. The pounding rhythm of feet against the earth.

Newt veered into few, his white button-down torn and filthy, face flushed and teeth gritted.

He caught sight of Credence, lips parting in shock, and immediately ran towards him.

“Newt-” Credence felt very close to tears.

“Credence, what are you doing here?” Newt’s voice was harsh and terrified, sweat dripping down his jaw.

“I-I followed you. Mr. Boot told me that, that McLaggen and that other man spend time here, and I knew you would be following them, you said you needed birdsfoot trefoil but that means you need revenge, and I knew that this is, that, that you…”

Newt caught him by the shoulders. “Credence, you have to get out of here, you have to go, please, I can’t let you get-”

A flash of red light, and Newt collapsed, stunned.

Abberdale stood in front of Credence, his wand trained on Newt. McLaggen stood next to him, face mutilated heavily, his own wand focused on Credence.

“It’s Newt’s little faggot. How is he, by the way? Still got a broken dick?” Abberdale taunted. “Don’t try anything stupid, pansy. Scamander’ll be dead long before you get your wand out and working.”

McLaggen was silent. Credence wasn’t sure whether that was because he had nothing to say, or if his face was too heavily injured to move without agony.

“Don’t touch him,” Credence half-ordered, half-begged.

Abberdale cocked his head to the side. “And what’ll you do to make sure we don’t? He’s useless, and so are you. Killing you right now would be our best option. I’m sure Scamander has some notes in his loft that’ll give us information on where his pet Obscurus is.”

They wanted the Obscurus.

Credence couldn’t risk it. He couldn’t risk turning. It took far too much time; Newt would be dead before he could dispose of them.

He thought of Graves’s hands sliding under his waistband, of fingernails scraping down the outer sides of his thighs.

He thought of Newt’s hands sliding over his shoulders, of fingernails massaging over his scalp.

“If I tell you where the Obscurus is, will you let Newt go?”

McLaggen’s eyes glittered, and Abberdale grinned. “Of course. Consider it a favor in return for a favor. You’re not threatening enough for us to _need_ to kill you off.”

Breathe in, breathe out.

_do it for newt_

_Newt will be okay._

_sacrificing yourself for newt is a fine use of your worthless life_

_That’s true._

_you’ll become a better person than we ever thought you’d be_

_I will._

“I’m the Obscurus.”

Abberdale huffed. “Obscurials are children. You’re too old.”

Breathe in, breathe out, think of Newt.

“I promise I am. And I promise that G-G-Grindelwald will know me when he sees me. He knows who I am. He doesn’t know I’m alive. But he’ll know me.”

Grindelwald was most likely thinking of the Obscurus in Newt’s case.

Newt had told him Grindelwald had asked him about it before.

Abberdale considered him, and glanced at McLaggen for a moment. “Alright, th-“

“Take us back to the loft. Leave Newt there. And then you can take me with you. But you have to leave him alone.”

McLaggen acted quick, striding forwards and grabbing hold of Newt’s upper arm and Credence’s forearm. Abberdale caught on to McLaggen’s collar, and they vanished into the vortex.

Credence shook free of them and laid Newt gently onto the doorstep, brushing the hair out of his eyes and staring at the slack face.

_Goodbye, Newt._

He let them touch him, let them bring him along back into the sickening twisting, churning emptiness of apparation.

He let them lead him to the edge of a cage, silent followers lurking in the shadows, curious but not daring to ask.

Enchantments were embedded in the very metal of the cage.

He was not going to get out.

He let them shove him in and lock the door behind him, let them leave him and go to contact their dark lord.

_we’re so sorry newt_

_we love you newt_

_goodbye newt_

_goodbye_

He let his eyes close and let himself sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yikes yikes yikes guess who kept forgetting about this fic?? me. but also life has been terrible.  
> anyway, i'm sorry for the huge-ass span of time between now and the last update, and i'm sorry this chapter is a little...bad. i promise the next one will be better! swear to god, cross my heart, hope to die, all that jazz. i'll try to get the next update up soon!  
> love y'all. and thank y'all so much for commenting and liking this fic, it really makes me feel better.


	19. old wounds reopened, sewn loosely closed and torn open to let loose the bleeding hearts of man

Credence’s eyes had adjusted to the blackness long ago. The hours had stretched together, and with no source of light other than a dim flicker in a far distant hallway, he had no way to figure out how much time he had spent alone.

There was no concept of time in that sort of darkness.

_ O God, You are the preserver of men, and the keeper of our lives. _

Blood caked the edges of his fingernails. He had clawed at the walls when they started closing in on him, the claustrophobia rising in his throat and sending bursts of light flashing in the edges of his vision, but to no avail. The cell dampened everything. His magic, his hope, his will to live.

It reminded him of his youth. He had expressed a flicker of magic, as a child. Mary Lou had caught him absently creating scenes from the Bible in the dust motes in the air. Her rage had been legendary. He had been locked below the building, the only light bleeding through the cracks in the door. The endlessness of time had caused his skin to itch with fear. His belly growled, his eyes watered. He had been a child, crying, screaming in the dark.

But it would not do to dwell on past terror.

So, he thought of Newt to pass the time. Not as they had last seen each other, panicked and fearful, or as he had last seen Newt, unconscious on the doorstep. He thought of them in the days before the plunge back into reality. He thought of smiles and kisses, of feeding animals side by side.

_ We commit ourselves to Your perfect care on the journey that awaits us. We pray for a safe and auspicious journey. _

Newt’s little movements. The way he brushed his hair out of his eyes. The way he fluttered his hands and bounced on the balls of his feet when he was excited. The look on his face whenever he saw an animal that needed care. The way he bit his lip in concentration when dressing an animal’s injury.

Credence focused on all that. He squeezed his eyelids shut and concentrated on the memories. He needed to relive them as best he could. If he were to die, he wanted his last moments to be filled with those warm and precious moments.

_ Give Your angels charge over us to keep us in all our ways. _

“Newt,” he muttered. His lips seared with pain as he pulled them apart, his dry tongue finding it difficult to form the word, but still he forced it out. “Newt,” he repeated, quieter, more lovingly.

A cloak swished somewhere nearby. He jerked his head up, wincing as a torch appeared around one bend of the winding hallway, illuminating the gaunt face of a stern, unknown man.

There were two pairs of boots connecting with the stone floor. A figure walked behind the stranger, pace careful and steady, as though each footfall were a thoroughly planned action that would lead to some manner of victory.

_ Let no evil befall us, nor any harm come to our dwelling that we leave behind. _

Credence ducked his head back down, pressing his forehead between his knees and sucking in a quick inhalation of air through his teeth.

Newt’s laugh (quick, more of a chuckle than anything, but sometimes loud, a burst of joy that always surprised even the man himself). The way their fingers would interlace, never awkward, fitting together in just the right way every time. The freckles on his cheeks and shoulders, like stars in the night sky. His manic, graceful motions.

_ Although we are uncertain of what the days may bring, may we be prepared for any event or delay, and greet such with patience and understanding. _

The two men were right in front of the cell. One of them banged abruptly on the bars, but Credence refused to look up.

“Open it.”

The voice was soft and deep, with a touch of gravel. A commanding voice.

_ don’t look up don’t look up don’t look up you fool you’re going to die he’s going to kill me _

Footsteps approached, until Credence could see the shoes in front of him, just visible through the crack in his knees. A wand pressed against the side of his head, sharp tip digging into the skin of his scalp. “Look up at me,” the man ordered in tones of dripping ice.

Credence swallowed and obeyed.

It wasn’t a face he recognized, physically, but Credence knew him. He knew him in the way his eyebrows tilted, the twitch of his lips and the narrow of his eyes, the precise way he walked. Even with the color sucked out of him, replaced by pale hair and pale skin and pale, pale eyes, Credence knew him.

The two of them stared at each other.

“Credence,” breathed Grindelwald.

The pressure of the wand lessened, and it traced its way down to his hairline, lifting up the longer hair so Grindelwald could get a better look. After another second of contemplation, the wand disappeared up his sleeve, and he knelt. His knuckles came close, and Credence suppressed a shiver of revulsion as they brushed against his cheek.

_ Bless us O Lord, that we may complete our journey safely and successfully under Your ever watchful care. Amen. _

“You’ve been alive this whole time?”

Credence met the other man’s eyes. His heart was beating in his chest faster than a hummingbird’s, but he needed the defiance. He needed not to be the cowed coward.

Grindelwald’s hand moved back. There was a false affection carved into his face. Credence had once been fooled by that same disingenuous love. “You’re different,” Grindelwald noted in surprise. It was strange how accusatory it sounded to Credence’s ears. “You’ve grown. You seem cared for. I’m glad you’ve been safe this whole time.”

He crouched down to Credence’s level, brow furrowing in curiosity. “Have you been with Mr. Scamander all this while? Ever since America?”

Credence wasn’t going to give him anything.

“Did you know I was out there? I’ve missed you, Credence. I’ve cursed your would-be killers more times than I can count. They destroyed you, I thought. It almost drove me mad. I raged in my cell to think of how your body would never get a proper burial, scattered unceremoniously to an uncaring wind.”

_ The blessing which came from heaven, from God the Father, when the true living Son was born, be with me at all times. _

Grindelwald moved once more and helped him to his feet. Or, rather, he pulled him to his feet. Credence offered no resistance, but did not attempt to make it easier.

“I’m sorry they’ve trapped you down here. Had I known you were alive, and well...I would have come for you the instant you arrived. You’re no prisoner here, Credence. I’m terribly sorry they’ve treated you as such.”

The handcuffs he clasped around Credence’s wrists once he was unchained from the wall certainly told a different story. 

“These are just a precaution. I don’t want you to have to…’fight’ the Obscurus right now. Let’s teach you how to use it when you’re in a less stress-inducing environment. No need to control it, or suppress it. You’ll be  _ glorious _ once you’re trained.”

Credence wobbled once upright, his legs full of pins and needles. He quickly stilled as Grindlewald curled his hand around Credence’s neck, in the pseudo-comforting gesture of the past.

_ Newt. Think of Newt’s touch, not Grindlewald’s. No ulterior motives. No intention to deceive. Newt loves you. You’ll see him again one day. _

Grindelwald led him out of the cell, hand rising slightly higher to stroke Credence’s hair before dropping to rest on the handcuffed wrists. It needed to be inconspicuous, of course. Given the attitude of his followers, Credence doubted they would take kindly to their master cozying up to their male prisoner.

_ The blessing which God spoke over the whole human race, be with me always. _

They walked behind the strange man with the torch. For a moment, Credence wondered why the man wasn’t using his wand to light the way. The faded bites and scars littering his bare skin explained away that oddity. Werewolves were never allowed wands (although Credence was unsure of the exact law that forbid it).

There were cells lining the walls, each almost impossibly dark. Occasionally, the light would be cast over the face of an occupant. Most looked resigned to their fates, eyes weary and dull. A few were still terrified, the last visible hopes of freedom only just beginning to die.

The blanket of gloom lightened as they approached the exit. The stairs were strangely clean, polished to an almost mirror-like perfection. Credence’s shoes clicked sharply against it. Whatever it was, it wasn’t stone.

Credence’s eyes watered with the sudden return to brightness. Grindelwald’s thumb swept over his upper wrist before he completely uninitiated contact. “Only for a little while,” he murmured soothingly.

_ The holy cross of God, as long and as broad as the one upon which God suffered His blessed, bitter tortures, bless me today and forever. _

Like the stairs, the room they emerged into was uncomfortably clean. It was incredibly large, more of a great hall than anything. Several witches and wizards milled about, each pausing and turning their gazes towards the emerging trio.

_ “Don’t move so much. Be still, like a mouse. Try not to be noticed,” Mary Lou ordered. Credence shivered, cowering, his cheek stinging from the slap.  _

_ “But Ma-” _

_ “Don’t call me that,” she snapped. “Sit in the corner and read the psalms you ‘forgot’ to this morning. Don’t come to dinner until you’ve finished doing so. I don’t want you to disgrace me in front of Father Jeremiah anymore than you already have.” _

He applied that tactic to the new situation. He hunched his shoulders inward, focused on the floor below him, letting his hair swing down to shadow his face.

Grindelwald’s fingers met his chin, tilting it upwards with silent authority.

“Don’t hide yourself, Credence. You never need to hide yourself again.”

It was so hard to control himself. Every word spoken added fuel to the fire of hatred that had been smoldering for the past months (ever since he had realized that it was not of his doing to ruin his own life, and the actions of a lover and a friend did not coincide with the sick curl of disgust and self-hatred with each pressured action, each guilt trip and concealed condemnation, ever since he had felt the touch of a hand fueled by sincere gentleness and realized that a comparison could not exist between two concepts so entirely opposed). The Obscurus fought against the restriction of the enchanted handcuffs, and the feeling of restriction almost brought the churning vomit in his belly to his lips.

The next few minutes passed in a blur. He allowed Grindelwald to usher him to and fro, guiding him up to a podium to stand next to him. Without any persuasions, the scattered followers gathered in front of them.

“There is a change coming in this war.”

Something about the silence was remarkable. The witches and wizards stared up at Grindelwald, enraptured, hanging onto his every word. It was like an enchantment had been cast over the crowd.

“The governments of the world wish to shield the non-magical by concealing us under the guise of protecting us. But their efforts are not for us. This suppression has resulted in our community being subject to cruelty that should never have been ours to experience.”

_ The three holy nails which were driven through The holy hands and feet of Jesus Christ Shall bless me today and forever. _

“The muggles fear us, even though they do not know of us. And since they cannot know of us, when they turn this fear towards us and punish us, we are not allowed to retaliate.”

The crowd rustled with anger.

Credence stared at a still chandelier. The curl of Newt’s fingers on his wrist as a reassuring anchor to reality. The way he curled his body protectively around Credence’s when the night terrors made themselves apparent. The way his eyes grew distant after a moment of overwhelment, and the quiet companionship necessary during this time.

“I am sure you all have heard the tales of Obscurials. Children subjected to the awful violence brought about by this mindless, ignorant hatred. They are taught to hate who they are, and fear what they can do. They take this torture and internalize it, and it turns their magic into a wild thing with  mind of its own, capable of wreaking beautiful, well-deserved justice on those who have forced its creation. Incomprehensibly powerful, indescribably incredible.”

Curiosity, now, and fierce anticipation.

Newt, bowing his head to rest against Credence’s skull.

“What if we could find one of these Obscurials, before the anguish twists them too far? Obscurials die young. They are children. It is understandable that they would eventually succumb to this pain, when there is no one around to tell them that they are not wrong, or ugly, or a mistake.”

Excitement. The attention was turning to Credence. He could feel the weight of their gazes.

Newt, holding his hand as they wandered through Diagon Alley, showing him the pet store and the book store and the back alleys full of easily-fixed, malfunctioning objects.

“What if an Obscurial was strong enough, powerful enough,  _ brave _ enough to survive past childhood? What if an Obscurial was able to overcome everything that had been thrown at them and live to adulthood?”

_ The bitter crown of thorns which was forced upon the holy head of Christ, shall bless me today and forever. _

Newt, wiping away a missed smudge of food from the corner of Credence’s mouth, so focused on such a miniscule task.

“I found a child, in my travels to America, and I had her brother, help me with my investigation. You see, I had known of Obscurials to only be children. But I was mistaken. Yes. I had fallen for the common notion. I had never even thought to consider the wonderfully improbable. And I discovered that it was not the girl, but the brother, beaten yet strong, abused yet defiant, who held that fascinating creature in his chest.”

That was not the story. The Credence of those days had not been defiant. He had been so desperate for the slightest hint of warmth that he had fallen for the tricks of the man lying next to him.

Newt, who had never attempted to trick or coerce or damage the boy he had rescued.

“I discovered it too late. He was hurt, badly, and the Obscurus revealed itself before I understood that the one I was searching for was not the girl. I attempted to save him from the backwards views of the MaCUSA, but I was thwarted by individuals who only saw him as a monster, an uncontrollable beast to be destroyed. They captured me, and I watched as the beautiful creature before me, that which I had journeyed long and far to find, the creature I knew would pave the way to our domination...I watched as the ignorant, blind fools of the American Ministry raised their wands in fear and wild panic...and I watched, helpless, yelling for them to cease...I watched as he was destroyed.”

Gasps. It was such a theatrical performance.

Newt. Newt. Newt. Credence’s chest ached in longing.

“I escaped from prison, naturally.” He paused, to allow for a few eye rolls and chuckles. “When I arrived here, I learned that my followers had captured a man who knew the whereabouts of another Obscurial. However much I valued the first Obscurus, I knew that I could not dwell on it forever. My people, my loyal followers, were depending on me, and I knew I must deliver by any means necessary. And so, I went to the dungeons, just minutes ago. I was prepared to do whatever it took to find and rescue the next one, before those crueler and stupider than myself turned against the poor thing. But when I opened the cell, who should I see, but…” a breath, “he I thought lost forever? I found Credence.”

_ The spear by which the holy side of Jesus was opened, shall bless me today and forever. _

Credence missed the feeling of Newt’s fingers interlaced between his own.

“Credence. The brother of the girl. Credence, the Obscurial I thought tortured and murdered back in the Americas, beaten and bloodied and broken by those unable to see the purity and goodness of my intentions. They could not see that the creature, the being, the entity before them was something, someone, to be cherished and guided. Our path is the righteous one, my fellows, and in this gift, this view is proven, for Credence has come back to us, my followers. An Obscurial more powerful, more brilliant, than the legends themselves told of.”

_ Newt. Newt, gentle and forgiving and understanding. Newt, who never saw Credence as a tool to be used, or a problem to fix. Newt, who saw Credence as powerful, and brilliant, someone to be cherished and guided, but not in an attempt to manipulate through compliments, who saw Credence as precious only because it was in his heart to do so. _

Tears pricked the corners of Credence’s eyes, and he screwed them shut. 

“He will be free, now. These handcuffs are only temporary, for he has not known guidance and training through the admiration he deserves, and emotions will lead to a scenario neither we nor he desire. We will teach him that his Obscurus is not to be snuffed out, but to be celebrated, trained, strengthened. And once he is in control of it, able to access its power upon desire, he will be beyond anything we could’ve dreamed up,” Grindelwald’s quietly confident voice grew to a shout. His fervor increased, his tone one of wild delight and inspiration. “His name will be a  **celebration** , one that will teach our brethren that there is  **nothing** about ourselves that we must hide from the ignorance of our weaker, simple-minded, non-magical cousins. With him, we will be victorious! With him, we will  **win this war** !”

The throng cheered ecstatically. Grindelwald had one fist in the air, his chest rising and falling rapidly. There was a feverish glint to his eyes, one that Credence had never seen before. One that filled his stomach with chilly fear.

_ The rosy blood protect me from all my enemies, and from everything which might be injurious to my body or soul, or my worldly goods. _

Their leader silenced them after another moment. “Credence must rest. But soon, he will commence his training, and be our key to defeating the unenlightened.”

Unenlightened. What an ugly word.

He was removed from the podium. The crowd parted as Grindelwald walked ahead of him, and Credence, without much thought to the matter, followed. There was nothing else for him to do. He could run, certainly, but he had no idea which direction to go.

They left the followers behind. Up, up, up a spiral staircase, to a glossy oak door that opened with nary a sound.

Grindelwald shut it, slowly, and then drew closer to Credence. His fingers, now able to move and touch, danced across Credence’s cheekbones, mapping the edges of his jaws and stroking up the sides of his face. “Your hair’s gotten longer. It suits you, Credence. It makes you look like a free man.”

Every word was barbed. Grindelwald didn’t want a free Credence. He wanted a Credence under his control. Not one with the defiance he preached of gifting upon the younger man.

“I’ve missed you,” he murmured, face close, breath hot and smelling of mint and cinnamon.

Credence didn’t believe it. He didn’t trust the fondness in the other man’s face. He knew better. Grindelwald had no qualms about using love to get what he wanted, and if he felt that love would get Credence to work with him after months spent in the arms of one Newt Scamander, he would certainly use it.

“I’ve missed you, too,” Credence lied.

Grindelwald smiled. It was disturbing, seeing the attributes of Graves dancing across the washed-out face in front of him.

The kiss that followed was forceful. Grindelwald pulled him away from the door and to the bed, languidly unbuttoning Credence’s shirt as they approached the mattress. He pulled back as he rolled it down to the handcuffs, and, with a huff of irritation, unlocked them, tossing them to the side.

Credence shivered as his magic flooded back into him. His vision blacked out momentarily, and when it returned, he found himself on the bed, Grindelwald’s hands tracing down his stomach to meet his waistband. It was funny, thought a disconnected part of Credence’s mind. Grindelwald’s desire for sex was not the sort that Evelyn had described to Newt in the journal passages Credence had skimmed over. It was not the warmth of love and lust and affection. It was a desperate, angry thing. Something intended to place Grindelwald in the mind of the other, to control them.

_ this is wrong this is wrong this is wrong. _

_ let us out. _

_ let us out. _

It was funny that Grindelwald was responsible for both of Credence’s voluntary transformations. Exactly what he wanted, after all.

_ Bless me, oh ye five holy wounds, in order that all my enemies may be driven away and bound, while God has encompassed all Christendom. _

Credence let himself disintegrate.

the boy climbed up to his cloud. there was no angry jerk, no sudden, horrid, forceful ascent. he settled in the distance, and relished in his departure from the world below.

it was curious to see how the face of the man beneath him shifted from pleasure to fear and pain. the boy kicked his legs back and forth, contemplating how it had all worked out.

he was different than he had been before, of course. the man had recognized a change, but had not understood the significance of it. the boy could no longer be bought with vague promises and fleeting touches. the boy had had enough of the philosophy that too much of a good thing was a bad thing. he would no longer settle, not when he had tasted the greater things in life.

he watched as the man disappeared in a crack that barely resounded throughout the boy’s absent world. it mattered, to the human part of him, that the man was suddenly out of his grasp, but he had willingly given himself up to the beast, and the beast would do what it did best.

destroy.

the room was a wreckage, and the boy watched dispassionately as the monster moved on to the rest of the hall. witches and wizards disapparated upon seeing him, and he wondered if the man would experience any consequences for his foolish, too-confident moment of trust.

the boy felt good. for once, he had been the trickster, not the tricked. it was nice to not be the victim. it was nice to be the one who hurt others.

the hall crumbled. the floor went with it, cells caving in and leaving the prisoners blinking in the light they never thought they’d see again. the monster was not interested in them. without the blind rage and hurt to fuel it, it worked with a far clearer head.

it would bring the guilty that which they deserved. whatever crimes the prisoners had committed, their time in the fallow dungeon had acquitted them.

_ In this shall assist me God the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost. Thus must I, Credence, be blessed as well and as valid as the cup and the wine, and the true, living bread which Jesus gave his disciples on the evening of Maundy Thursday, _ the boy recited to himself.

it was nothing but chaos in the ruins. the prisoners fled from the monster too, unaware of his lack of intentions towards them. they would find their way out of the dust and falling stone, scramble their way to freedom.

he had no control over the situation, so he turned his thoughts to other matters. a blue coat and crinkling green eyes. a crooked grin that spread to every corner of a tan and freckled face.

_ All those that hate you must be silent before me; their hearts are dead in regard to me. _

a few of the figures that remained below attacked. they aimed their wands at him and shouted nonsense words. the beast enveloped them. the screams should have bothered the boy. he had wanted to get out and return to the man he was remembering (what was his name?). he didn’t want to hurt unnecessarily, he told himself.

but there was such an anger in his heart. he did want to hurt them, a harsh and vicious urge in his chest that blocked out the empathy that should have held him back. it was a festering, hateful vengeance. he wanted them ruined. to feel what they made him feel.

the boy recalled feeling that way before. that uninhibited rage. tearing into a woman standing in front of him and a girl, her face twisting, first in shock and then in pain.

credence, yelled the man below.

it was the man from before, the one who had disappeared from the bedroom in horror. the monster paused its senseless shifting.

credence, you can control it. credence, i’m sorry i scared you, i know it’s been a long while, the man crooned.

the boy settled into the cloud. it was soft and muted inside. all words were muffled, all feelings splintered into insignificant shards of too-sharp glass.

the boy was fragile in the physical world. up above, he could cut out that part of him, and fuel the beast’s malice.

the man was still calling up at him. a woman came from behind, tackling him, fingernails leaving lines of red across his face. he blasted her back with his wand, sending her flying to collapse on a broken pillar.

the man was struggling to conceal his fury. credence, he cried. credence, i want you to be free, to be beautiful and passionate and uncaged.

liar, snarled the beast.

liar, agreed the boy. he swung his feet from back to front, then back again. liar, he repeated.

the woman struggled to her feet. her face was more red than brown, the stain spreading over the fabric of her torn clothes. credence, is that you? she asked.

did he know her? the boy was certain he did. there had been a bridge, and bonds formed. 

the man turned and shot another spell at her, a curse on his lips that did not align with the one erupting from his wand. 

the monster took the spell into itself and swallowed it. it was nothing it hadn’t experienced before (light, burning, screaming, newt begging them to stop, graves ordering them to, tina crying, crying, crying).

the man’s pale face whitened even further.

credence, what are you doing?

he sounded desperate. the beast didn’t care.

credence, it’s me, it’s your graves, you know me, he implored.

_ And their tongues are mute, so that they are not at all able to inflict the least injury upon me, or my house, or my premises. _

liar, condemned the beast, and its voice rang out as the din of a thousand nails on a thousand chalkboards.

it lunged for him, and he vanished from its smokey grip.

he was gone.

the woman staggered towards the beast. she raised her hands placatingly. she was so small, all the way underneath. credence, i’m going to go find newt, she reassured. i’m going to go find him, and he’ll sort this all out.

who would do that? what needed to be sorted out? the boy considered unleashing the monster on here. but there were greater things to which he had to attend. more important things.

he needed to find that man. the boy was already forgetting who that man was. there was a vague, niggling thought in the back of his skull. a memory, or quite a few memories. he did not bother to delve into what was assuredly a tangled, frothing mess. all he knew was that he hated that man’s eyes, the smirk on his lips, the way he moved as though he expected the entire world to fall out of his path.

it didn’t matter, his hatred. all that mattered was the beast’s.

the woman scrambled to one of the corpses (he hoped those bodies had experienced agony in their last moments, he hoped they had experienced agony, he hoped they would find their way to heaven and have the pearly gates locked as god smiled at them in gleeful vengeance before casting them to hell). she retrieved a wand from its hand with difficulty, fighting against the setting in of death’s cold stillness, the fingers swollen and breaking as she wrenched it free.

i’ll be back, credence, i’ll be back with newt, i promise.

she sounded hesitant. as though she doubted the boy in the cloud was really in the beast at all.

that doubt was correct. he was not in the beast. he was above it. far, far, far, far, far above it. impossibly distant. impossibly distant.

he laughed, sharply, inexplicably. did any of them know how apart the two of his entities were, and yet how inextricably tied together they were? or were they all stupid, shallow creatures, unable to see the beast apart from the boy, or the boy as one with the beast?

not everything could be as simple and understandable as they would like it to be.

the woman was gone. he hadn’t even noticed that she had left.

he broke open the ceiling like an egg, spilling out into the world like a half-liquid chick, gestating within a shell that those outside had not foreseen to contain a fertilized lifeform, body not quite right, chance at life stolen before even made aware that such a chance existed.

outside of the building was empty and green. expanses of hills, covered in woods, not a soul in sight.

the beast burned, and so did the forests.

he wanted that man to be wrapped in the beast’s embrace. he wanted to curl that man close to his chest and make the man think he was loving, and warm, and kind, and caring, and then he wanted to claw open the flesh of his face, sink his teeth into the meat and tear it away from the red-soaked bones, to bite and snip and slash and tear, to make the man scream in agony and beg for forgiveness and sparing.

he wanted that man to be hurt and to hurt viciously and angrily. he wanted to make death slow and merciless.

the boy shuddered. he didn’t like emotions leaking out of the beast and permeating his dizzy disinterest. it made him feel less like a boy in the clouds and more like the man on the ground that he usually was. Credence. Credence was a creature of hurt. the boy was the part of him that had no business feeling anything. he was the insouciance. the beast was the histrionics.

the countryside flashed below him. the monster didn’t pause, but it shredded everything in its wake. it dipped low to drag its edges through the mud and grass, launched itself high to snap off the tops of trees.

it was senseless destruction. the boy didn’t care for things that were senseless. but the beast did. that was its role, in this story. the beast was there to destroy mindlessly and feel thoughtlessly. the boy was there to bystand contemplatively and think emotionlessly.

it was a good relationship, he thought. better than most of the ones their body had experienced.

the boy wasn’t even sure what the beast was doing. they had never had the opportunity to spend so long apart from one another, and therefore he had never been able to study its behaviors and skills. perhaps it was on a scent, like a bloodhound chasing a fox through the shadows. perhaps it could see his trail, could feel the sick magic laced into that man’s veins.

ugly, ugly, ugly. this whole situation was ugly and hectic and hateful.

the boy didn’t particularly care. he kicked his legs back and forth and dropped backwards into the cloud with a soft ‘pluff’. he didn’t need to watch. there was no way to control the beast in this state. or rather, he didn’t want to control the beast in this state.

_ And likewise, all those who intend on attacking and wounding me with their arms and weapons shall be defenseless, weak, and conquered before me. _

he hummed the prayer, gazing up at the empty void above him. it was not a sky. it was not a real cloud, after all. it was a vacant space in the back of Credence’s mind. a place the boy had cleared out when the monster had first sputtered into being. the void was the wall the boy he built, black as black could be, strong and sturdy to keep out the feelings to which the beast had free access.

that was its domain. Credence’s emotions were its domain. the boy had collected the thoughts and centered them in his. one was the heart, the other the brain, though neither brought life to their owner.

the wall trembled.

how long had he been on the cloud?

he sat up and looked down. they were passing over villages, now. he sighed and thought of reigning in the creature, bringing it further up. there was no need to kill the innocent and unwary. the beast, weaker than it had been in Credence’s youth, obeyed, and lurched into the sky, to sift between the storm clouds, grey and heavy with a cornucopia of frigid water.

he lay back down and waited.

he wondered, sometimes, if there was another part of Credence that had taken his memories and hidden them from the monster and the boy. try as he might, he could never remember the past as well as he wished he could. it would be a source of frustration, if the boy felt such things.

elitist, he snorted at himself. kick, kick, kick. back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, his legs swung.

the man.

the beast told him the man was below, in its susurrus voice, raging yet hissing and whispering. the boy sat up. he peered apathetically below.

pale and fearful. gazing into the pseudo-penumbra of the beast, impossible and angry.

it descended.

how long had they been traveling?

credence!

why was there always someone there to pull him back? someone there to tell him no, no, that’s against what the combination of the two of you wants, you must defer to the being that you make up, if you do this and return to Credence he’ll regret it, it’ll plague him and torture him and he’ll slip, slip, slip away.

_ In this shall assist me the holy power of God, which can make all arms and weapons of no avail. _

why did they always think the boy cared? he could live forever as a part of a whole that would never again come together. he could live as the callous overseer of a never-tiring monster, could live and watch as the beast broke the whole wide world in two, like an egg, although nothing would spill from the center when there was no life left to struggle free.

credence!

the woman. had she tracked the obscurus (the beast, the boy reminded himself)? she was holding onto a man with tearful eyes and tousled hair.

but she was not the one talking. the man was. he had his hands outstretched. no wand. no threat. the beast paused, swirling around the wand it had just knocked away from the pale man.

credence. we’ve done this before. please. please come back to me. he’s not worth it. he’s not worth you losing yourself.

the wall trembled. it was cracking. the boy buried his face in his hands. newt. newt. he knew newt. he hated that he was remembering who the hell newt was.

Credence was coming together. he wanted to go to the man. he was fighting against the boy. the boy was desperate. he did not want to go back. the beast did not want to go back. not yet. not until their work was done, and who knew how long that would take when the world was their playground.

but they were weaker than they had been before. the boy was loathe to admit it, but he was weaker, too, not just the beast. both were drained by the months and months of personality alterations and the development of control.

Credence wanted to punish the man.

but he wanted to go to newt more.

He collapsed onto the ground, fingers shaking and loose around Grindelwald’s wand. He stared at it, blankly, uncomprehendingly.

Grindelwald scrambled forwards and wrested it from Credence’s slackened grip. His face was tight with pain and rage, marred from what punishment the Obscurus had managed to enact before Newt’s arrival. “You will regret this,” he hissed, all insincere infatuation gone from his voice. “Why would you do this, Credence? I cared for you, I protected you, you loved me, and you are  _ nothing _ without me.  _ Why _ would you do this?”

Credence couldn’t speak. He blinked dazedly. He had never spent so long apart from himself before.

Grindelwald’s wand pressed against his throat, and then the pale man was blasted backward, through the crumbling wall of a derelict house.

Credence turned. Evelyn stood there. She was emaciated and beaten, her hair unwashed and tangled, but her chest heaved with breath, her cheeks flushed with flowing blood. “Fuck off,” she mustered.

Laughter bubbled in Credence’s chest, breaking from his lips in a hysterical burst of confusion and delight. She was alive. She was alive.

And then Newt was there, and he had his arms wrapped around Credence. There was no self-consciousness from either man at Credence’s almost nudity, the bareness of his legs and chest. There was only desperate, desperate joy.

Evelyn stumbled by, wand still fixed on the hole left by Grindlewald’s flying figure. There was no movement from within. He must’ve disapparated in the midst of the falling chunks of brick and wood.

“Damn it,” she muttered hoarsely. “If I see him again, I’m gonna kill that fucking bastard.”

Neither Newt nor Credence were all that fussed about where Grindelwald was going. Later, when the headiness of reunion had passed, they would fret and worry, watch the windows and door for any sign of reemergence, spook at any flicker of movement out on the street. But in that moment, there was nothing but the other. Nothing mattered except the presence of Newt to Credence, and vice versa for Newt. Nothing mattered except the fact that they were able to hold one another again, after fretful pacing in a house suddenly lonely after being like that for years before the arrival of the other, after anguished isolation in the imposing darkness of a cell in the court of a man responsible for old, healing wounds.

It must’ve been a long time since that moment they had been broken apart.

Credence must’ve been locked in the cell for days, maybe weeks, in the still, still quiet of a purgatory-like dungeon.

Time worked strangely in ceaseless darkness.

Newt detached for a moment only to pull a startled Evelyn into the embrace, burying his face into her hair and sobbing unabashedly. Credence pressed his body as close as he possibly could, savoring the almost bruising force of it, the burning heat so much more comforting than the dankness of the cell, and the gelid aloofness of the boy in the cloud.

Grindelwald had no misconception of Credence in his mind. Grindelwald would no longer hunt Credence with the notion that he would gain a loyal follower, a loyal pet, a subservient, fearful boy with no thought to his own comfort.

Evelyn broke free after a minute or two. She tried very hard to look as though she had not been crying, although her attempts failed. “Alright, alright. We have to go. I don’t like wherever we are. Come on…” she paused to breathe in a few times, lungs wheezing in her chest, “...you two. One pitstop along the way.”

She slung her arms around the backs of their necks, bunching her hands in their shirts, and disapparated.

They appeared outside her door.

What followed was a scene of utter bliss. She burst through the door, colliding into a startled, puffy-eyed Katherine, and the two fell to the floor in a heap of flailing limbs and screams of joy. Katherine flipped Evelyn over and cupped her face between her hands, pressing kiss after kiss to the other woman’s lips and cheeks, tears falling freely onto the already soaking face of her wife. “Evelyn, Evelyn, Evelyn,” she repeated, over and over again, and Evelyn tangled her hands in Katherine’s hair to press their faces together, mouthing ‘I love you’ again and again into the corner of Katherine’s mouth.

Credence’s tears came harder than before, and Newt’s arms linked around him. “Let’s leave them to it,” he murmured.

Credence nodded into the crook of Newt’s neck, relishing the warm softness of the skin there.

They went home.

_ All this in the name of God the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost. _

_ Amen. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BOI HOWDY well. honestly? the only excuse i have for why this is months late is because!! goddamn. i've been working on my Actual Book, which is taking forever but i'm really dedicated to, and i've been...sort of unsure about how to end this? there's one more chapter after this, the epilogue, of course, but this is really the end of the Big Story. we moved, also, that's a big thing. depression is another big factor. these are all excuses and what it really comes down to is I Was Very Very Very Tired and spent most of the summer feeling suicidal and empty and Bad. so!!! this chapter is a lot longer than the others solely to make up for how gotdang late it is. i'm very very sorry. please enjoy my dudes. if any of y'all are still out there lmao.

**Author's Note:**

> alright so this is my first Proper Published fanfiction so. yeah. this was mainly written as a sort of gift for my very best friend but i decided to post it because why the heck not.  
> if you have any advice/thoughts that you'd like to add, either comment below, or shoot me a message on my blog, crystalclustcr.tumblr.com! thanks for reading!


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